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

[x-psylocke.livejournal.com]

We catch a glimpse of what Betsy has been experiencing during her blackouts.



She continued to fall. Too dark to see, moving too fast to hold onto anything. Just gravity pulling her someplace. Rushing cold air pulled painfully past her body, biting at her skin. Her mouth open, lungs expelling air. It took a moment to realize, she was screaming. Her throat raw, her chest strained from the effort. How long had she been in here? Days? Weeks? She calmed herself, trying to use her skills to discern where she was. But most of her senses had been dulled by her frigid surroundings, making it hard to concentrate, to even attempt to use her telepathy.


And then she felt it, like fire burning her from the inside out, peeling away her skin, strip by pitiful strip. It did not stop, it did not hesitate, and finally, after begging into thin air, the screaming began again.

======


In Genosha, the team is ready to leave so Jean tracks down Haller.

The apartment building seemed relatively normal, considering what lay in specific areas of the city beyond. They were getting ready to leave in a couple of hours, but when Jean tried to call she had had no luck. Choosing to err on the side of caution, Jean had headed to "Commander" Braddock's apartment building, where Haller said he'd be, to check on him. It wasn't like him to not check in. At least, normally. Before this mission in particular, anyway. Jean knocked on the door to the apartment he'd mentioned. She sensed his psi signature but proceeded no further with any sort of that type of investigation. Behind the door, Betsy tracked Jean as she crossed the hallway. Hell, she'd been tracking her for much longer but that wasn't the point. Jean was coming. Betsy turned towards Jim's direction in her bedroom. She let out a huff of breath, part rueful and part sad. She plastered on a smile and opened the door after the first knock. "Hey Jean, what a surprise." It took a moment to get over the haircut, still, but Jean masked it by an impassive look that blossomed into a faint smile. "Well, I was in the neighborhood," she said. It was all semantics with telepaths. She glanced her over. "I've been trying to get ahold of Haller. The plane's leaving in a couple of hours." She didn't think Betsy had anything particularly nefarious to do with it, but if Haller had decided he wanted to stay here for some god forsaken reason or travel back to Europe with her instead she wanted to hear it from him instead of listen to his voice mail for the 15th time. The hesitation in her response, the quick flick of Jean's eyes upward. Betsy did everything she could not to self-consciously swipe at her hair. Or make mention of the new cut. Slight panic crept up when she realized they were going home. Maybe she'd get a new hairstylist. Henri was going to kill her the moment he laid eyes on her. She could hear it now. All those years of work, crafting, creating the perfect lock of hair. Years. Ruined. All those thoughts happened in a micro-second. Betsy let those thoughts go and exhaled, bringing her back to center. It was hard to focus when everything was in flux. It had only felt like a matter of moments but everything had changed. "He's not in the best of states to know you're here but I'm sure he'd appreciate the thought." With a small smile offered to Jean, Betsy opened the door wider. "Down the hall. First door on the right." "Not in the best of states?" Jean echoed, arching a brow. She remembered how he'd gotten when she mentioned Essex. Little ways he moved, acted. Studying Betsy again a moment, this time with a look more of concern than anything, Jean paused before stepping past, glancing over the apartment as she entered. The style was definitely not hers. It was cold, sparse, utilitarian. The thought of it, what had been done to her, completely overwriting what was Betsy and turning her into a different person, this physical representation of it made her hand tighten around her phone. "How are..." Jean trailed off, turning toward her as they walked. How could she have been? Good? Hell no. There were so many thoughts flitting through her mind that it spoke to her exhaustion, her need to decompress but that wasn't now. It wasn't time. When Jim came to, she would go down but until then she soldiered onward. "Tired." Betsy shrugged her shoulders. "Don't look at me like that with those eyes of yours. I'm okay. So don't worry, I won't go to pieces on your watch." They reached the bedroom and Betsy pushed aside the half-open door to show a very lavish bedroom and at the center, Jim. He sat on the bed, unmoving. "I was hoping he'd come out of it before I'd have to call for help." "So you were planning on doing it somewhere else?" Jean said. God forbid she show some sympathy. Slowly walking in, Jean crouched down in front of Haller, waving her hand in front of his eyes. He didn't blink. She let out a sigh. Oh, Jim. Betsy turned away, fighting back a wave of emotion before Jean could see or feel, and nodded briskly. "I always find a good place to lick my wounds. I'm fine though so thank you for your concern." She leaned against the doorway, her eyes fixed on Jim's still face. "Have you seen him like this before?" Jean grabbed Haller's arm and gently rolled his shirt sleeve back. "It's okay if you're not," she said as she worked. 'Fine' in relation to the self was usually a word that meant the opposite. She tried to let it go. If Betsy didn't want to talk about it that was her choice. Currently they had other things to worry about. "Sorry," she murmured, then pinched Haller's arm. Not hard enough to draw blood but enough to hurt. She wished she had some smelling salts on her. But that probably wouldn't have helped either because didn't even flinch. Jean rubbed her forehead. "Damn. He....I told him about Essex...earlier...He did the opposite of this...started to lose control a little...I...I think...defense mechanism maybe? A way to deal with all the stress?" "It's his mind's way of unwinding," Betsy offered. "The last few weeks have eaten away at him and now it's too tired trying to manage five minds in the driver seat so no one's driving at all." Jean had hoped to try external stimuli before using telepathy as a last resort. After what happened with Doug and her...manifestation, she was hesitant to use her abilities. "You try, maybe?" Betsy nodded, trying to bring herself to stand over Jean and Jim. About a foot away, she felt her stomach dropped. Betsy knew what was happening and took a step back. When her stomach rolled again, she rushed into the bedroom's side door, slamming it behind her. Heaving could be heard from the bathroom. Rapidly blinking, Jean unconsciously rose to her feet, glancing between Jim and the closed door for a moment as she waited to see when or if Betsy would be coming back out. She idly wondered if there was a window in the bathroom that she might slip out but pushed that thought away. This was Jim, after all. In the bathroom, Betsy stood up, her stomach still queasy. She paused her hand on the door. It was the rattling noise that caught her attention, Betsy looked down to see her hand shaking. Pulling back to stare at it, she realized it'd been so long since anything had cut to her core like this that it took her a moment to place it. Betsy turned to her reflection and stared. "God," she whispered. She was a wreck. Swallowing mouthwash and trying to remove the raccoon eye look on her face, Betsy let out a sharp laugh. When everything else was falling apart, as long as she didn't look the part, she could manage. Betsy turned toward the bedroom and sighed. "The doors open." Panic. The emotion was bleeding through again. Of all the feelings Jean got from people, the negative ones were the most potent. The body and mind sang songs to her, after all. Sad, tired songs. The door knob seemed to be shaking, from the other side, and Jean slowly walked over to the bathroom, just as Betsy spoke. Reaching her hand out, Jean turned the knob and opened the door part way, catching a glimpse of Betsy's purple hair from behind the door. She slipped in, then closed the door behind her, glancing around. "Nice...bathroom." "I'm sorry," she offered. Hands braced against sink, Betsy made herself look back at Jean. "It's just a bit to process and I couldn't do it in front of him. I just needed a moment to....I just needed a moment." Betsy let out a harsh laugh at the compliment. "She had outstanding taste. A bit cool but amazing, nevertheless." Jean leaned against the door. Bathrooms. She'd spent far too many times in bathrooms that went against what most people normally did in them. But they were a good place to think. "You don't have to apologize. You had a hell of a lot to handle," she said. They were standing in the bathroom of one of those things she had to handle. Her eyes flickered around. "Mmmhmm. It's certainly very....clean..." Jean said as she ran her finger along the clear glass toothbrush holder...then knocked it off, making it shatter against the tile. Betsy's head snapped up as Jean molested the holder. "Wait, what are you....?" Jean glanced up owlishly. "Whoops." The purple haired telepath stared at the broken glass and laughed. "You did that on purpose." Tilting her head, Jean blinked. "I don't know what you mean," she said. Her hand slipped out, and a plaster casting of a mollusk went sailing off the shelf, exploding into shards of white as it hit the ground. Jean put her hands behind her back. "Now that one, on the other hand...." Her lips curled into an impish grin. "You know you want to." Betsy hesitated. "Fine, I want to but...it's wrong. We've already decimated half an island. I couldn't..." Her finger hung over a porcelain box of tissues. "I couldn't..." This wasn't her apartment, it was where the personal doll of Essex lived. Betsy's finger tipped the box as it fell. She laughed. "You are such a bad influence, you know." The grin lingered before turning into a bit of a smirk. "Me? I am the picture of sainthood," Jean said, knocking over a pile of towels. It didn't have the same satisfying smash but it added to the disarray. "The Moreaus started it. We just finished it. Besides, I think the apartment needed to be redecorated anyway," she said, shrugging. Her eyes flickered up toward a picture on the wall, she motioned to Betsy, then to the picture. "After you?" She eyed the painting, turned an unsteady gaze on Jean and finally shrugged her shoulders. "What the hell?" Betsy grabbed the painting and shoved it out the bedroom door, leading to the living room. She heard it shatter with a satisfying crack and relished in the feeling. Entering the living room, she stared at the entire space. Her eyes caught the gleam of the antique sword hanging over the fireplace. "That will definitely do." Jean's attention turned to the sword. She slowly smiled, arching a brow. "I'm intrigued." "Logan gave me a sword like this." She turned her wrist, eyes catching the light hitting the sword. "To be fair, I took it. Or she did." Betsy's body twists and the sword slices a vase in half. It falls to the floor with a crash. Another twist, a painting eviscerated. A jump and swipe, the installation piece hanging from the ceiling breaks up, landing beside Betsy with a crash. Her rage swelled. Betsy found every piece of furniture and destroyed it. In death, rebirth. And in the fire growing in her, new life. "I can still move like her." She moved the sword to her left hand, hesitantly taking a breath, steadying herself. Then her right hand flared to life, Betsy's psychic knife manifested. Amethyst. Bright. She extended her arm and the knife transformed into a psychic katana. "She's gone. Jean, how can I still do this?" At that point Jean had been letting Betsy go. It wasn't Jean who needed the catharsis but she was more than happy to be the catalyst and accomplice if necessary. She watched Betsy for a few moments, then paused thoughtfully at the question posed. "Maybe it wasn't entirely her who was the one with the ability," she said. "I don't know," Betsy sighed, dropping the sword. "The only person who did took the voice in my head, gave it a body, and left. "Christ." Jean shook her head. "So what? You'll find out. The only voice now is yours. Embrace it. It'll be frustratingly slow to rediscover everything, but it'll be your journey, not his or hers. You have the capability. I know it. Haller knows it. Now it's your turn to know," she said with a smile. Betsy opened her mouth to respond when she closed it again. A thoughtful expression crossed her features. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Leaning against one of the chairs that was only partially damaged and still upright, Jean shrugged, glancing away. "Just because we had a rough past doesn't mean the future has to be that way," she said. She had a lot of time to think over the years, and the days on the run from Magistrates about herself, Betsy, Scott, and all the things that had happened in their lives. Their losses. Sometimes it still stung to think about, but it was over. Betsy was with Haller and she was with Scott. Clinging to past wrongs did them no good. She had to look ahead. "If you weren't trying to make me feel better, I'd question your motives. " Betsy said, resigned. She crouched down on the floor, thoughtful. She scoffed. "I would like to be hopeful for the future. Sounds like a lovely idea." "Well I seem to recall the term 'sneaky bitch' being used before to describe me," Jean said with a light smile. She nodded a little. "I would like to have hope too. Truce?" "Truce." Betsy responded, her words barely above a whisper. Staring at the floor, she let herself process what happened for only a brief moment. When two drops of water fell on the wood floor, Betsy snapped out of it and wiped her eyes briskly. Turning to Jean, she spoke with forced happiness. "Let's wake sleepyhead, shall we?"

=====


Betsy returns to the Brownstone.



"Mm, pass me that folder, would you?" Once the manila file was in her hand Ororo rapidly flipped through it until she spotted the clipping she was looking for, pulling it out in order to cross-reference it with the sheaf of information she was currently building. It wasn't her favourite thing to do in bed with Remy, but there was a certain domestic charm to doing research before sleep with only the glow of the bedside lamps to illuminate their work. "I swear I have seen this name before, but it's not in any of the current rosters... do you know it?"

"Ulysses Klaw? It's an odd enough name, but I don't think dat I've seen it before. Oil, gas, and mineral prospecting firm... could be associated wit' mercenary groups or corrupt African officials. It's not exactly a clean, professional market." Remy said, mentally flipping through his files. His remarkable memory was a product of intense training, and however acquired, was an useful asset.

"Sounds German. We could ask North to check de old Stasi databanks, see if dere's a file on him."

"Good idea," she agreed with a nod, pencilling down the name and then returning the article back to its proper place. The pair slipped back to working in silence, passing files and notes between them like two parts of a well-oiled machine. The hour was late, but neither needed a great deal of sleep, and a quiet night collating information seemed to stretch ahead of them invitingly.

A whistling noise filled Remy and Ororo's room, as if a landing jet did a close flyby overhead. What happened next took place in a matter of nanoseconds. There was a crash as something landed hard on the couple's mattress. The force of it, cracking the supports, sending the bed to the ground. A small shockwave followed, knocking over anything not tied down.

Lying quietly on the bed, Betsy shook. Her skin paler than snow, making her eyes and hair stand out like fiery amethyst. She was in the fetal position, still dressed in tattered medlab scrubs. Smoke emanated off her body as it made contact with the warm night air.

There was a long pause as they considered the body in front of them.

"Chere, dere are easier ways of suggesting a threesome." Remy said dryly, but the joke aside, they were both already on the move. He pulled a corner of the blanket over her, and reached for her throat, putting a pair of fingers against her jugular, feeling for the pulse. "She's alive, at least."

"I will call the mansion," Ororo said tensely, searching for the phone in the jumble of things that had fallen from the bedside table. "Is she conscious?"

Remy tilted her head slightly and thumbed back the eyelid. "Betts? Can you hear me?"

The low lights in the room forced the stunned telepath to move. She felt a burning sensation on her face and she whimpered, pulling away from it. Her eyes fluttered, tears streaked down her face.

Consciousness was slow but after a moment, she emitted a soft, pained moan. Reflexively reaching out with her telepathy but she felt nothing. A sharp pang of fear lanced through her and she forced her eyes open. Of the pair standing over her, all she could make out where blurry figures. She struggled to move, her limbs uncooperative. "Jean..." she called out, voice hoarse.

Her vision slowly cleared, Betsy realized she wasn't in the medlab but the Brownstone. Incoherent and almost to herself, she whispered. "No, no, no...all wrong. All wrong."

"You can say dat again." Remy shook his hand like his fingers at been scalded. "She's freezing, 'ro."

Ororo exchanged a few terse words with the person on the other end of the line, then thumbed the phone off, the air in the room already warming at her bidding. "Let us get her comfortable, and then we can take her back to the mansion. In a more traditional form of transport this time." Though she was worried for her friend there was no hint of emotion or waver in her voice - what they needed now was straightforward planning and reassurance.

"Dis one of dose times letting 'yana leave for school bites us right on de ass." Betsy's eyes weren't focusing properly, and her body movements were just- wrong. Remy's powers had odd applications, and one of them was a sense of how people moved. His spatial sense tracked how they occupied space and moved through it normally; a kind of mental fingerprint unique to them. Betsy normally moved with a sure grace. But now, her motions were erratic and disjointed, more than drugs or exhaustion could account for. "We may need to wake up Emma, chere." It was a sign of his concern that he was so quick to suggest going to Frost for help first.

"Flat, two-dimensional. All wrong. Or I am? Oh god, it's broken." Her mind veered off onto another tangent, another time. "Not the flu, Remy....How right you are...secrets, secrets. So many secrets..." She laughed, delirious, slightly mad. Betsy's eyes finally seeing the two people above her. "Oh ho. RemRo." Her eyebrows knitted together, confused at the conjugation and her predicament. She looked down at the broken frame and mattress. "RemRo, I think I broke your bed."

The laughter returned, manic but with a hint of sadness. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...." She whispered the words over and over again. "I'm so sorry..."

"That's all right, Betsy," Ororo murmured, moving to kneel next to the fallen telepath. "Come, let us get you somewhere more comfortable..."

Remy found his phone on the side table, thumbing through the contact list for Frost's executive assistant. There would be someone monitoring the number, regardless of the time. "'ro, we-"

Ororo shushed him with an upraised palm, watching Betsy struggle to find a flow of sanity in her mental confusion. Unlike Remy, she'd spent years with one of the greatest psionic minds on the planet, and knew firsthand that distractions would only hurt Betsy if the burst of madness was connected to her telepathy. He got the hint, switching over to a text. Xavier might have been best but Emma was closer, and Remy's focus was on first response.

A knock at the door.

Betsy remembered hearing a woman’s voice asking about the noise. Wanda? Before she could utter a word, she felt the cold and shivered.

The darkness had come for her again.

=====


In Genosha, after working out her demons in Commander Braddock's quarters, Betsy returns to Jim.

Dropping the katana, Betsy went down the hallway and entered the bedroom. She kneeled beside Haller and softly placed her hand on his, then leaned in for a soft, tender kiss on his cheek. "Jim." Somewhere deep in the protective blackness that was David's sanctuary the consciousness of Jim felt a stir in the air. Faint, like the first touch of breeze at the height of summer. A pinprick of light appeared. It drifted towards him like an ember spiraling from the fire, bobbing every now and then on the nonexistent breeze. That Jim had no eyes in the darkness made no difference. Even curled in the abyss of un-being he could feel it draw closer, ever patient, ever bright. A butterfly, gliding on amethyst wings. It settled on his cheek, and now he had a cheek to feel it. Its light fell across his eyelids, and he had eyes to see it. The sensation coursed downward until he felt a sense of weight, then of his body, and suddenly he wasn't in the darkness anymore, he was seated on a bed in a room, and Betsy was beside him. "Betsy," Jim whispered, voice hoarse. The word held a hint of confusion, as if he couldn't quite understand what he was saying. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again; her face was still there, and so was he. "Hey, love." Betsy smiled wide, eyes bright. She turned to Jean, blinking away the tears. Betsy kept her hands gently rubbing his, grounding him, holding him in place. "It's time for you to go home. Jean is here to take you back." Dazedly, Jim swung his head towards the doorway. "Jean?" he mumbled. "Sorry, I -- mmf, you're bright." The telepath knew he was looking at Jean, but what he saw was a haze of flame. He pressed his eyes shut again and turned his face towards the cool, amethyst glow of Betsy until he felt certain he was looking with his eyes rather than his brain. Jean tilted her head, then figured out what he was talking about. She glanced to Betsy, then back to Haller. "Sorry about that," she smiled. "We have a plane leaving in about an hour and a half. Do you want me to try to arrange another flight for you so you can stay a little longer and recover?" She knew only too well what the after-effects of coming out of catatonia felt like. It was different for everyone in their own way, but the general disorientation was a common earmark. "Uh . . . yeah. That may not be a bad idea." The fog was clearing now; Jim's voice firmed up. "I mean, I could do it. It's just a lot of people to be squeezed in with while I'm a little . . ." he made a whirling motion with his free hand, "you know." Betsy's hand was still on his. He gave it a reflexive squeeze before the significance finally made its way to conscious thought, late but waving an important notice in its hand. He turned back to her, confused. "How did you get me back so fast?" "I don't know, it was a light brush of the mind really." Betsy started, confused. "It shouldn't have worked at all." "No," he agreed, distantly, "it shouldn't have." Body still stiffened by fatigue and inactivity, Jim rose from the bed. He drew Betsy with him by her hand, moving his other to cup her cheek while they steadied. As he brushed a thumb against her lips he loosed his other hand to circle her waist. Eyes still locked to hers, with movements slow but somehow inexorable, Jim pulled Betsy to him and kissed her deeply. Jean paused, rubbing the back of her neck as she squinted a little and glanced away. "Wow, are those granite countertops? Fascinating," Jean murmured as she headed for the kitchen. Everything stopped. All of the worry, fear, and the nagging sense of doom simply left as the room spun and Betsy held on. Jim was being quite thorough and she didn't mind at all. Jean was saying something but before she could question it, he deepened the kiss. Oh my. Fortunately for Jean's sake, Jim remembered they weren't alone just in time to keep a semi-public display of affection from catapulting into world's-too-public indecency. He felt a brief pulse of embarrassment that he'd gotten so carried away -- especially in front of Jean, who had been and was still going through so much. Hastily, Jim managed to disengage himself from most of the tangle, though his hands still rested lightly on Betsy's hips. He found himself reluctant to release her, and not just for the reasons that had lead to Jean's hasty retreat. This is real, he thought, taking in Betsy's violet eyes and the spots of color on her face. This is real. She stayed. With one last brush against Betsy's mind, Jim cleared his throat. "We should touch base with the others before they leave," he said, loud enough that Jean would know she no longer had to busy herself with the apartment's interior decoration. Betsy tried to speak and then looked away, the flush of her cheeks growing hotter. She tipped her head towards his, breathing him in and then she moved back a little bit reluctant and a little bit resigned. "You'll be the end of me." Tightening her hands over his, she pulled him away from her. Closing the mental wall onto herself, Betsy smiled cheerily up at him but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I guess you'll be going then?" Despite his exhaustion, Jim managed a smile that was lightly teasing. "Well, yeah. But like Jean suggested . . . later. Different flight, less people. And, unless you're planning on relocating to Africa permanently, with you." His smile deepened as he squeezed her hand. ~And fewer witnesses.~ Relief. Whole-hearted relief. "Okay," she managed. He was going to stay. He was staying. Betsy wouldn't be alone back home. The tight coil in her stomach calmed. She gave him a light kiss on the lips and nodded. "I do love you, you know." Betsy wiped at her face and opened the door, exiting the bedroom without another look. He lingered for a moment, just long enough to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. Then, shoulders squared and composure regained, Jim followed her out. "Sorry, Jean," he said, "I think we're rea . . ." Jim blinked at the ruined furnishings. His eyes went from Betsy to Jean to the devastation and back again a few times. "Um, what the hell?" Leaning against the counter, Jean peered up at Haller with a perfectly serene face. "Girl bonding," she said. She then nodded a little. "I understand. I have my phone on me if you need anything before I go. I'll tell the others." She looked back to Betsy, then gave her a nod and a faint smile before turning to leave. "Jean," Betsy called out. She went to Jean and enveloped the redhead in a hug. "Thank you," she said, pulling back and returning the smile. "Truly." Jean was a little surprised, pleasantly, but still surprised. She hadn't quite expected a hug, but it was nice to get. Her smile widened. "You're welcome." She nodded to a glass vase on the fireplace mantle. "Missed one," she said, the smile turning a bit wry as she opened the door and slipped out.

=====


Jim and Jean search for Betsy.



"I still can't feel her -- what the hell is going on?" The agitated ramble was punctuated by a light scrape as Jim fumbled with the keys, missing the doorlock the first time. His adrenaline was still pumping from the Medlab, and now his mind was racing as well. About an hour to the city, give or take -- was there traffic or construction around the brownstone?

The keys were telekinetically plucked from Jim's hand.

"I'm driving," she said as she stood in front of him waiting for him to move, no room for questioning or challenge. She was using her leader voice. "You're not in any state to be behind the wheel of a car. You know that," she said. It would've been quicker to take the Blackbird but it would've created more problems than solutions.

"We'll figure it out. I didn't--" She drew in a breath, glancing away.

"I didn't feel her die. Death doesn't feel like that."

The younger man met her gaze. His right eye had darkened to match the left. "I know what death feels like."

Then the sense in her words sunk in. Jim took a deep breath and moved to the passenger side. "Sorry," he said, looking away. "You're right. I didn't feel it, either. But that's the problem. I didn't feel -- anything."

Opening the passenger side door, Jean thought about it a moment. "That could be good. I'm not sure how yet, but we're going to think positive. Now get in," she said, starting the car.

She'd already had her hands on the wheel when she popped the door. Jim took the hint, climbed in after her, and closed the door manually.

"She told me," he muttered as the pulled out of the garage. "She told me she was seeing you. I didn't make the connection. I thought it was something else bothering her."

The moon was high as they made their way down the driveway. "I told her to tell you. I guess she was afraid to," Jean said quietly.

"But she could tell you?" Jim replied, voice thick with bitterness. "I know how she thinks. How sick is she? I know she's been more tired lately. What exactly has she been 'protecting' me from?"

"More like....I found her in my bed. She didn't know how she got there. She didn't want to tell me. She was pale, weak, cold to the touch. She--" Jean's eyes glazed over as she slammed on the brakes and the car came to a screeching halt. She immediately put it into reverse.

Jim's inattention cost him when his lack of seatbelt almost threw him through the windshield. "What are you doing?" he demanded, pushing himself from the dashboard.

"Betsy's not at the brownstone. She's back at the mansion..." Jean said, tilting her head. "In my....closet."

******************************

CRACK.

When the dust settled, the obvious victim was left bowed and broken. Scott and Jean's closet was a goner. Also, any form of clothing left inside was in tatters. Gas vapors emanated from inside the closet, carrying into the remainder of the room, in its wake a frigid chill.

Ice particles collected around the lone occupant in the closet. Elisabeth Braddock was semi-conscious, babbling to herself. "Blue. Fire. Dancing. Water. Broken. Night." She shook, the tenor in her voice, changing. Frantic. "Broken."

Scott looked up from his position lying prone on the bed. It wasn't often he got a chance to relax, so an evening with no grading, no paperwork and no training to worry about, Scott had decided to spend the time doing something that he had been failing to do for a long time. Spending the day playing with Desdemona; hence his position sprawled across the bed as he watched his cat scramble across the bed after chasing one of his cat toys when he was caught unaware by the crash and billowing cloud of gas from his closet. "Kurt?" he called cautiously as he pushed himself off the bed, it wasn't like his friend to just come crashing in like that unless something was very wrong. "Is that you?" The familiar voice and glimpse of purple hair from the remnants of his closet stopped Scott short, "Betsy?!" he exclaimed in surprise rushing over to the woman's side, "what happened?"

"Remy? Ororo?" No, they were gone. She was alone. "I can't stop.. I can't make it stop."

Shocked back into awareness, Betsy registered Scott's presence by her side. Partly from relief, Betsy sobbed. "Broken. I'm broken." The muscles in her body went taut, feeling it happen again. "No, no, I won't go back. Make it stop, make it stop." She screamed as she fought against the sensation, willing it to--- "STOP!"

Scott reached out and grabbed Betsy's arm as he saw her tense up, worry evident in his expression. "Go where? Betsy, what's going on. What's wrong?" The X-Man's eyes flashed around the room taking in the wreckage that was cluttering his living space and Desdemona peering around the bed's leg at the scene. "There's no-one here, you're not going anywhere," he assured her in as calming a voice as he could manage.

"Okay, okay...I'm staying." She kept her fearful eyes on Scott, muttering the mantra over and over again, her voice breaking. Air rushed past her ears, the signal of another jump. "Oh God, please no." She started to disappear into the closet, through the broken wood and floor beneath when Betsy braced her hands against the doorframe, holding herself in place. "I said I'm fucking staying!"

Her dissent halted.

His eye taking in the sight of Betsy being pulled into the floor Scott reacted the instant she stopped falling into the floor. Leaping forward he grabbed her arm and braced her against sinking any further.

She held Scott's arm for dear life and let herself be pulled away from the closet.

Once he was certain she wasn't sinking any further Scott started to pull at Betsy's arm, pulling her out of the shadow and onto solid ground. "Ok," he said nodding at the shadow and he took a moment to catch his breath. "What just happened?"

Frost formed on Scott's sleeve. The ice spread upwards and Betsy pulled her hand away quickly. She backed away from him, sitting in the center of the room. Letting her hand touch the wood floor, she watched as frost covered its surface. She stared at the limb and whispered. "That's not possible."

Betsy felt the stirrings of a migraine. Head pain meant she was present. She was here in Westchester, not falling through darkness. But wasn't she in New York? In Remy and Ororo's bed only moments ago?

Scott's words cut through her. She stared up at him, confused and frightened. "I don't know. I really don't..."

The suite door rattled as if the subject of a localized earthquake. An instant later it stopped, and there was a more conventional sound: a doorknob being turned. Jim appeared an instant later, his right eye a muddle of grey and blue as he fought to keep his telekinesis from ruining Jean's living space as well as her office.

His mouth had barely started to form a question when he saw Betsy huddled in the middle of the floor. The words died on his lips. Barely registering Scott, the telepath stumbled to her side and started to reach out to her, then froze with his hands inches from her arms. She radiated cold; he was seized with the irrational fear that even a touch would burn her.

"Betsy," he panted, face flushed from the mad dash up the stairs. "Betsy, can you hear me?"

"She's ok, Jim," Scott said softly stepping up behind the other man, "She just appeared out of no-where," he nodded at the remains of the closet, "And then she started to vanish again. What exactly is going on here?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Jean said from the doorway. She would've been right behind Jim but she had been getting her medkit out of the car when Jim took off in a dead sprint. It was all she could do to keep up with her injured foot.

She quickly approached Betsy, crouching down on one knee as she opened her med kit.

Whatever was happening was effecting Betsy's health, or at least it had the last time Jean had been around to witness the aftermath. The chill coming from Betsy gave her pause but she pressed on.

"I'm sorry," Jean said. Had she known this would happen she would've never suggested it. It shed some light on a few things but in the worst way possible.

"Can you breathe? Are you feeling how you did before?"

Her hands and body shook lightly but Betsy nodded, mutely. She could breathe despite her sore throat. Why was it sore? From all the screaming, her mind supplied. She looked down at herself, caught sight of her scrubs. They were cut to shreds yet her skin remained unharmed. "No," she whispered to Jean's second question. "I don't."

Distractedly, Jim made a blind clawing motion towards the bed and the comforter flew into his hand. He flipped it around Betsy's shoulders and began to rub her arms through the fabric, vaguely thinking to warm her.

"Are you okay?" he whispered. Her face was bloodless, and something else concerned him even more.

You're right here, why can I barely feel you?

The nightmares made sense now. They were suppressed memories. Moments so horrible she blacked them out. "Oh god."

In a quick flurry of flashes, her mind supplied Betsy of her trips through the black. The fear and terror. She remembered the stench of it and somehow blocked it all out only to have it resurface each time she disappeared. And with each trip, she felt better than the weeks leading up to the episode but yet she resisted. The longer she resisted, the sicker she became. Why? And there it was again, that still voice answering her. Because what if you didn't come back, to spend eternity, trapped in the dark. Isn't that our worst nightmare?

Hands on her shoulders, Betsy realized she'd lost herself in her thoughts. She startled at the warmth surrounding her body and stared at the comforter covering most of her. Jim looked at her with such worry but when had he gotten here? His hands were on her shoulders, his eyes pleading with her, talking to her but she heard nothing. Just the silence. Her head throbbed as she tried to use her telepathy, to ground her, to confirm to herself this place was real. Yet when she looked from Jean to Scott and back to Jim. She heard nothing. "What's happening to me?"

"I have my suspicions," Jean said, grabbing some gauze, cleansing wipes, antibiotics, and bandages from the medkit.

"Can I have your hand please?" she asked, extending her own hand. She nodded to the blood covering Betsy's hand to prove the purpose.

Betsy hesitated. The spot of ice on the wood floor was a puddle now. She touched the water's edge and felt relieved it didn't freeze over. Satisfied, she gave Jean her hand, surprised by the dried blood, yet vaguely remembered she had an IV in that hand. "Why can't I use my telepathy?"

"What do you feel like now? Do you feel weak? I think you're in shock. We need to get you back to the medlab," Jean said, her voice calm and firm, but gentle. She had learned to be the rational, guiding voice among the chaos in situations like these. Panic never did any good.

"I feel like I've been hit by a runaway lorry." Thoughts still muddled, Betsy finally felt like she had a firm hold of what was happening. She wanted to wipe away errant strands of hair from her face but then she saw her other hand clenched around Jim's forearm. Surprised, she offered him a small smile, opened her mouth to comment dryly on their situation when she stopped. A cold pit formed in her stomach, slow, gnawing. "Medlab hasn't exactly been the best place for me today."

"Babe, you need to go." Jim's tone was soft but firm. He brushed the hair from her eyes; it was damp with sweat, and her skin was clammy. "You disappeared from the Medlab, showed up in the city, and a few minutes later ended up in Jean's closet. This isn't one of those 'I'll just sleep it off' things." He glanced at the older man, then winced. "Besides, this isn't the place for a triage station."

Scott glanced around at the detritus strewn all over the suite, "He's right Betsy," Scott agreed, "Our room is probably not the best place for them to take care of you, The medlab will have all the equipment that they need to check up on you, and hopefully won't have shattered planks of wood and splinters lying all over the place." he added wryly.

Gently dabbing the dried blood away with the cleansing wipes, Jean took to dressing Betsy's wound. If they needed another IV she could try the other hand.

Scott's comment made her look around. She hadn't even noticed before in her focus on getting back to her patient. So her office AND her closet were both destroyed in the span of 10 minutes. There really wasn't much she could do about that at the moment, however.

"I think I know what might be going on but I'd like to examine you first. Especially after what happened last time. I know this is different but I'd like to know HOW different. Because there will be a next time."

"Fine," Betsy agreed. The odd feeling of cold spread further inside her body. She stiffened, gingerly wrapping her hand around her stomach. "I'll go but I won't let it happen again. I won't go back to that place."

Jim snorted. "Let's figure out what's going on before you start making any promises," he said. Betsy was shaking. Maybe part of it was from the cold, but he suspected shock was the most urgent cause. He could sense her now, but only just, like when the dentist numbed your mouth: a sense of pressure when explored, but no reciprocal sensation. It was unnerving.

He got to his feet, Betsy's arm in hand so she rose with him. She was only on her feet briefly. Jim got one arm under hers, then another behind her knees so he could scoop her up and out of the comforter.

"You've jumped around enough tonight," he explained to her, then glanced at the redhead. "Jean, can we borrow a blanket so we don't have to add public indecency the list?"

I jumped? Her mind raced at the implication. "You're making it sound like..." Before Betsy could say more, Jim had pulled her up and she was in the air and in his arms in a matter of moments. She resisted it, after all, they were still fighting. But then the room tilted and Betsy groaned. She braced her head against Haller's chest, hands clasped tightly on his shirt, fighting the rising nausea. She whispered through gritted teeth. "I didn't do this."

"I'm sorry, but I think you did," Jean said as she grabbed a robe from the back of her bathroom door. She had a feeling it'd work better than a comforter. Her voice dropped, softer and assuring as she offered the robe to Haller.

"Not intentionally. But there have been studies...instances of mutants who have already manifested developing a secondary mutation, unrelated to the ability they currently possess. I think this is what's happening. It's rare but it's very possible. We're still trying to figure out what determines it."

She had been hoping to discuss this at the medlab, but everything else was not going according to plan that night...why not add one more thing to the list?

Secondary mutation? Betsy felt her stomach roll. What if this was the first step? What if she turned into something else entirely? What would a creature that lurks in the dark look like? What would she look like? Oh god. Her heart beat raced just as her headache intensified. A burst of pain lanced across her skull as if she'd been struck. Betsy let out a small gasping moan. The headache lessened letting the panic resume and unfurled from inside of her, her mind open and terrified. ~God, no. Please be wrong, please....kill me... ~

=====


In Genosha, Jim and Betsy plan for the future. Sort of."

With her back still turned to him, Betsy felt Jim's wry expression. "Stop it," Betsy said with a roll of her eyes, regarding him with a slightly twisted smile. "It's not like I've never been nice to her." She let out a frustrated huff of breath. "Besides, I may have panicked about you not waking up." Each word slightly raised in pitch and tension. "And had some dark thoughts about what the naughty ninja planned to do to you, to us." "It's okay." Jim moved up to wrap his arms around Betsy's waist. Gently, he drew her back against his chest and sighed. "As for everything else," he murmured, "we'll plan as best we can, and worry about what happens when we find ourselves there. It's all we can do. But right now . . ." Turning her so they were face-to-face, Jim lay his hands on her arms and smiled. "Right now, we're here." He stroked the sleeve of her robe, smile deepening. "And there are worse places to be." She took in the demolished apartment. "True, but we should make sure that you’re feeling better. Maybe see how your skills are holding up after this trying time." she gave him a soft peck on the lips. Betsy removed the robe belt from its loops, pulled away from Jim, as the purple haired telepath shrugged out of her robe and let it fall to the ground. Betsy handed the belt to Jim, moved toward the kitchen and stopped, looking at Haller over her bare shoulder. "Hide and Seek has always been my favorite way to make the most of it. If you think, you’re feeling up to finding me?"

=====


Panic subsides as Betsy's telepathy returns.



#Shh.# Warmth penetrated the cold, blank wall where her telepathy should have been, and suddenly Jim was in her mind again. His presence was calm and steady, oddly removed from the undercurrent of his own worry. She was held, just for a moment, by both arms and mind.

#If that's what's happening, this is only physical.# His lips touched the top of her head, the only part he could reach with her face was still buried in his shirt. #Don't get ahead of yourself. You'll always be you. Everything else is just details.#

"It's too early to tell anything at this point," Jean said. There wasn't enough data to make accurate conclusions beyond the immediate one. She tried to give them a moment, but only a moment.

"But I can sense you again. That's a good sign. But in the meantime, shall we?" They could have more of those moments down in the medlab. Moments were good, when people were nice and stable and she could attend to them properly.

Betsy wasn't blind and alone any more, the tenuous return of her ability, reaffirmed her sense of self. She was still a telepath, for now.

The warmth soothed. Reaching out for it and Jim like a desperate man scrabbling to water, basking in its presence, Betsy's panic started to subside. In this moment, unconsciously, her body relaxed and she felt true relief from her aching muscles. Her body had been held taut for so long, she couldn't remember the last time she didn't ache.

And in that moment of letting go, everything seemed to blur for Betsy. Many, many months of little-to-no sleep and worry landed purposefully at her feet, demanding attention. With a shaky breath, while in Jim's arms, Betsy turn to hold Jean's gaze, then acquiesced with a furtive nod, letting her head fall back on his chest. The fight pulled right out of her. She closed her eyes and mumbled. "We'll just avoid anything I suggest from now on."