xp_logs | Scott and Betsy---Monday Night

x-psylocke.livejournal.com posting in

This log takes place shortly before this post. It explains some much. Enjoy!

There weren't that many places in the mansion he could honestly say he felt completely comfortable. The hangar hadn't been quite the refuge it used to be since Haroun's arrival. He still hadn't fully unpacked his stuff in the new suite, which certainly didn't feel like home yet. That left the garage, and he was having trouble feeling at ease even here, tinkering with his bike.

The distinct sound of metal grinding together was coming from the garage. She was sure the clanging was louder than it needed to be, which meant that Scott was internalizing his anger. This should be fun, she thought. She rested her hand on the doorknob a moment before swinging the door open. She stood there a moment, watching him.

"I'm sure the bike didn't mean it, whatever it was?" Betsy commented jokingly.

Scott looked up at her, assessing the way she was watching him. After a moment, he managed a somewhat sheepish smile. "It called me distant and ineffectual. Or wait, maybe that was just my conscience..."

The garage door had been closed, but she still felt the night air. She wrapped her arms across her chest, keeping herself warm. "I highly doubt the bike could form such a succinct, yet totally accurate statement," she said, smiling down at him. "Right then, which means one would presume, it was that infalliable conscience of yours. It's always been efficient with its' insults from the very beginning."

"I'm my own worst critic," Scott said dryly. "Or should that be 'best'?" He set down the wrench, wiping his hands on a rag. "Although I should be thrilled. I heard footsteps and half-expected it to be one of the kids. The fact that it was you instead is more of a blessing than I deserve."

"I'm hoping that was a compliment." Betsy walked over to the bike and crouched down next to Scott. "With everything that's been happening. I wanted to make sure you were alright?"

"It was," Scott said with another smile, less defensive and more tired. "And I'm fine, Betsy. Nothing's been happening to me, after all." It had been what, a whole two weeks since the incident with Shiro?

"Yes, well." Betsy turned her gaze from Scott and back to the bike. She studied the smooth lines, the sleek exterior. Her hands grazing over the surface. "It wouldn't have to happened to you, to still trouble you so?"

Scott sighed, rising. "I'm okay, really," he said, his voice more subdued. "Just worried about Alex." And Shiro, and Angelo, and Paul and his sister, and a bit upset at the Professor, and Lorna, and himself...

She held back the grimace she felt forming. She brought her eyes back to his. Right, the hard way, then. She stood up, brushing off the dirt on the back of her jeans. "Get up," she said, rather sternly. "Time for a change of venue. I have plans that I'd like to execute and they don't involve you hunched over and sweating. At least not right now."

"Umm... okay," Scott said a little uncertainly, getting up and putting his tools away automatically. "I think the bike was on the verge of begging for mercy anyway..."

"What makes you think I'm only doing it for your sake?" Her face brightened. She flashed Scott another dazzling smile, while holding out her hand for him to take. She would be the one to save him today, if only from himself.

Scott wiped his hands once more, tossed the rag aside, and then took her hand, smiling back a bit tentatively. "Lead on?" he suggested quietly, part of him unabashedly relishing the feel of her hand in his. Just her simple presence was comforting, easing some of the tension within him. She wouldn't have had to say a word.

She squeezed Scott's hand again, giving him a reassuring smile before leading him to the other side of the garage where she kept Eleanor. Betsy leaned Scott up against the car hood and thoroughly kissed him. Her keys already in her left hand, she pulled back and opened the door for him. She waited until he had made it inside, looking flustered and closed the door. She placed her hand on the garage opener on the side wall and made her way over to the driver's side. Betsy gave Scott one smouldering look before turning the ignition and peeling out of the garage, out of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngers, and into the cool autumn night. She was sure her laughter could be heard for miles.

-----

The quiet, after hearing mostly the roar of Eleanor's engines for the last little while, was nice. Quite nice, actually, Scott thought, leaning back into the seat and listening to the soft night sounds coming through the open window. The breeze was rather nice, too.

"This was a good idea," he murmured.

"It was yours." Betsy turned over to face him. She twisted her upper body and propped her head up with her hand. She studied him, his features had smoothed a great deal during the drive, but that furrow between his eyebrows remained. Betsy sighed. "We have a history of parking, Summers. If all else fails, we'll have our late-night drives." She ran her fingers through his hair, hoping to smooth away the fly-aways, as easy as his troubles.

"I still think we should have made for the state line," he murmured, part of him trying very hard to resist the urge to curl up beside her and just tell the rest of the world to go to hell, at least for the rest of the night. But there were good reasons why he shouldn't. Lots of them. An endless list of reasons... "Or, you know, the Mexican border," he ventured. Humor as coping mechanism? People were going to think he'd cracked or something. "Margaritas. Margaritas could be good..."

#Never that,# Betsy whispered in his thoughts. Her eyes were trapped with him, she felt her emotions, welling up within her. Betsy let her hand drop to the side of Scott's face. "We can go, if you want." She paused for a moment. "I'll follow you anywhere, Scott. And if gets to be too much here, we don't have to stay. Not if you don't want to."

Betsy released her hold of him and pushed herself back into her seat. "I'm mad, I know. You don't have to say it."

"Not mad," Scott said softly, reaching out for her hand and squeezing it gently. "Too good to me, maybe. Have I thanked you lately for putting up with me?" She was so beautiful, he thought almost wistfully, staring down at her in the dimness.

"Hmmm," she murmured. Betsy let her head fall forward at his caress, her voice dropping an octave, and taking on a sultry rasp. "Right, then. Margaritas, it is."

"Margaritas on the beach," Scott suggested after a moment, toying with the mental image. A nice, empty beach, far away from the school... he shifted a little, uncomfortable at how his mind had gone right back there again. Wishful thinking was one thing, but did he really wish that? "I'm a lost cause," he murmured as wryly as he could. "Consistently circular thinking. Some strategist..."

#You are brilliant, Scott. I won't allow you to deny it,# she sent telepathically. She let her hair fall over her face, hiding her expression from him. Betsy saw the beach and thought on it a moment. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. She reassured herself that their link had remained intact, by nudging it at both points. It was secure. She opened her eyes, trying to hide the deviousness in them, she brought her right hand back to his hair and down along his temple. Betsy smiled reassuringly up at him, bringing her left back to her own temple.

-----

And they were walking on the beach together, hand in hand. Part of Scott was aware that it was a projection, but it was a very quiet part, one that was content to point that out and then fall silent. The waves lapped at the sand, and Scott took a deep breath, savoring the fresh air with its tang of salt.

She remembered the place well. A secluded spot tucked away in the Carribean, her haven away from it all. The landscape was always a calming one. She looked up, the moon hung brightly in the horizon, lighting the ground in a bluish hue. She noticed the ocean never too far off. And the trees, often providing cover from the ever-present sun, still always made for a romantic spot at night. Betsy let out a strained breath. "I'm hoping I didn't overstep my boundaries," she said worriedly. "But, this is the best I could offer on such such notice."

"Overstep--" Scott swallowed, choking off the protest half-formed. "No," he said more softly, his smile a little unsteady as he looked at her. "I just wish..." He stopped again, and then pulled her to him, gently, almost hesitantly. "Thank you," he murmured, reaching up with his stray hand to smooth the hair back from her face. So real. It all felt so real. He only wished that it was, wished it with an aching longing that never overwhelmed him.

#More real.....# Betsy turned slightly away from him, his voice echoing louder in this shared place than it would be in the real world. Betsy stopped walking and looked at Scott with concern. "It can be as real as you want it to be. A brief interlude, the calm within the chaos, anything you wish it to be." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "And if you wish to do this on your own, to gain some perspective, I can lead you here and leave. I'd...understand that, as well."

"I think I've done enough running away this past year and a half. Don't you?" Scott said, a tiny, weary smile tugging at his lips. "Too much to do, Betsy. Quite literally not enough hours in the day."

"I know, luv." Betsy nodded her head, solemnly. She tried to hide her disappointment. "It's alright. We've only been in here for a few minutes." She placed her hand on his temple. "We can head back now and it'll be like no time has been lost, I promise."

"Back to the madhouse," Scott said with a strained little laugh. "Why not? Might as well save the facade of normality for the audience, huh?"

She felt the tightness in his voice. Betsy stopped herself from committing the act and kept them from crossing over into the real world. Instead, she brought her hand back down to her side. "No," she said quietly.

Scott stared at her, not understanding. "I..." He trailed off, his shoulders slumping as he realized how his comment could have been taken. "I didn't mean it that way," he said, his voice low and tired. "I seem to say that a lot, don't I?"

"Of course, you didn't. But, it always seem to come out that way." Betsy took a step back away from Scott and faded from his sight. #Trust me,# she sent through their link. #And make yourself comfortable.#

Scott watched her fade, still not comprehending. "Betsy?" he called uncertainly. Nothing. He turned in a slow circle, not seeing any trace of her anywhere on the beach.

What was she... trust her, she'd said. Scott stood there for a long few minutes, staring out at the water. Then he sat down and did his best to do as she'd said.

----

Betsy sat indian-style on the floor in her private quarters. The interesting trek back to the school without anyone seeing them was quite a task, but she had made it back with Scott, unnoticed. A bottle of tequila and two shot glasses were in front of her now. Across from her, Scott sat in the same position, his face placid and vacant. "Time to rise and shine, sleepyhead." Betsy leaned forward, placing her index and middle finger on his right forehead. She started her internal timer. Three....two....one. "Contact."

Scott blinked, shaking his head a little, disoriented, as he became aware of where he was. The beach had faded around him almost gently, but the transition was still a shock. "Betsy?" he asked uncertainly, his eyes flickering around. Her suite. "What... how long have I..."

"Shhh." She placed her hand on his lips. Betsy sat back down and began to pour the tequila into the both shot glasses. "Not long and no one saw us," Betsy said, handing the glass to him.

Scott reached out and took the glass, his hand a little unsteady. "What are we doing?" he asked. He trusted her. He did. But the lost time bothered him, even though he knew she had been there with him.

"Something real." Betsy leaned back and downed the tequila. She watched him finish the shot and started to pour the next set. She eyed him for a moment, a smile teasing on her lips. #Alright, alright. You were unconcscious in the car ride and we walked in together through the back staircase. I can give you a play-by-play, if it'd make you feel better.#

#No,# he thought back at her after a moment. #I don't need the play-by-play.# He tossed back the second shot immediately, almost recklessly, grimacing. "This is probably," he said, his voice a bit hoarse from the alcohol, "not the healthiest way to spend the evening."

"Smart move," she said, already pouring the third shot. She knew he couldn't afford to leave the school for too long, yet he also needed to relax. Dammit, she was determined to make sure he had a good night. Even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. Why did he have to be so stubborn? "Oh ho, don't try and back out on me now."

"Do I look like I'm backing out?" he retorted almost stubbornly, not quite sure what had gotten into him. "Besides," he said as she refilled his glass and then picked up her own. "This way, if a student blows up, they'll call someone other than me."

"Don't worry about anyone coming to look for you in here." Betsy said, somewhat grimly. "Besides you, Alison, and the rare newcomer. I don't get many visitors," she stared at the amber liquid, her face wearing a curious expression. "I don't blame them much for it, it's only natural after everything." She took the shot slowly this time, savoring the taste and letting the tequila burn down her throat.

"We ought to spend more time in your suite and less in mine," Scott said, his voice rough from the alcohol and emotion both, this time. Make up for all the times he hadn't come up here and knocked on her door, thinking that he needed to give her space... He tossed the shot back, then set the glass door very carefully, his hand unsteady again. "I missed it," he said dully. "Alex. Didn't see it."

"It wasn't yours to see," Betsy retorted, carefully. "Some truths," she started. "Are not meant to be revealed until it is time for them to be known. You can't possibly hold yourself responsible for anything that happened outside your control, Scott. This place," she motioned with her right hand in the air. "has seen it's fair share of horrors. Yet, it perserveres, as we do, because we must."

"I have to hold myself responsible," he said as she refilled his glass. "That's what I'm here for. To be responsible. And I'm not... not persevering," he said stubbornly. "I haven't made a run for Mexico yet, have I?"

"There's still time, if you want to get a head start," Betsy quipped.

Scott looked up at her, a smile tugging at his lips almost despite himself. "You think we could find something to do with ourselves in Mexico?" he asked after a moment. "Some sort of... simple life. I dream about that sometimes, you know. Well, not really in Mexico. But."

"Yes," she whispered, bringing her hand to his. "My life has never been simple and all I've longed for was close to perfect. With you, Scott, for the first time I believe it so much that I ache for it." Betsy let out a low laugh and drank the tequila in one swallow. "Silly, I know. But, a girl can dream."

Scott tossed back another shot. "Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing, though?" he asked, unable to help a cough. "Dreaming... trying to make Charles' dream real..."

"The noble dream of cohabiting without fear." Betsy gave Scott a knowing grin. She flicked her hair back from her face and pushed off her knees. She slinked over to him and stopped only mere centimeters away from his face before she spoke again. "We're working toward a goal, Scott. A crusade, if you will. But it isn't a dream. Not in the way that ends with long walks on the beach."

"Didn't the Crusaders take a vow that they wouldn't come back until they accomplished what they were supposed to do?" Scott asked, unable to break eye contact with her. She was holding his full attention effortlessly, and he reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Very depressing thought. All battlefields, no beaches..."

"Indeed." Betsy almost cooed at his touch, her eyes darkening considerably. Years of living in the States had allowed her accent to diminsh, somewhat. But as she felt the alcohol, coursing through her veins. Betsy could tell her accent was more apparent, which also meant she would be slurring her words, momentairily. "I would even say, it was almost as damaging as brilliant strategists and their circular thinking." She moved in slowly, letting her lips graze his for a moment before pulling back from his grasp.

The kiss, brief as it was, burned. Scott swallowed as she leaned back. "I love you," he whispered. "As clumsy as I am at it half the time at it..."

#I know,# Betsy sent, her lavendar eyes still locked on his. "I love you too, more than anything. You're what keeps me sane, Scott Summers." Betsy flushed considerably and finally turned her gaze away from him. "You're not the only one clumsy at expressing it."

He shifted closer to her, his eyes still locked on her face. "Maybe it's okay to be clumsy?" he asked in a low voice, leaning forward, his lips brushing her temple. "So long as we both know..."

Betsy took in a sharp breath. Her eyes closed, as she relished the feel of his lips on her skin. She felt heat rising from deep within her belly and working its' way up her spine. She nodded, her head buzzing. "Clumsy works for me, alright."

The slow blaze up the link was... Scott closed his eyes for a moment. No words. "You know what they say about practice making perfect," he murmured, reaching out and tracing the line of her jaw with a hand. "Maybe we just need to do this for years on end... surely we've got to get less clumsy."

"Hmm, practice sounds lovely." Betsy shivered at the sensations. Hers. Mind and body. "I'm sure I could get use to listening for as long as you need." The revertebrations down the link were quite interesting.

"What about what you need?" Scott couldn't not ask the question. It was right there at the top of his mind, and the tequila was hitting him hard and fast enough that the filter between brain and mouth wasn't quite catching everything. "Do you need me to listen?" he asked, half-wistfully, half-worriedly. "Or just to stop talking? Anything, Betsy... I told you that, didn't I?"

She couldn't help but blinked a few times. It was a minute before she actually responded. "I'm sorry?"

"I..." He trailed off, staring at her in some bewilderment. "I have no idea what I just said," he finally said with a sigh. "I just feel... like I'm not being what you need me to be. Like there's more I can, or should be doing, but I can't figure out what."

Betsy sat back down on her hunches and looked up at Scott in confusion. She felt her ire growing and consequently let it travel down the link. The alcohol had fuddled with her shields and a moment ago, she hadn't thought about keeping her thoughts away from Scott. So, why would she now? "Let's not..." Betsy started. "I don't want to talk about myself tonight. This is about you."

He leaned back a little, an instinctive response to the anger on the link. Nice job, Summers. He reached out for the tequila bottle and poured another shot, his hands visibly trembling. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I didn't mean to push. I just... I don't want to..." He cut himself off, setting the bottle down again. Not picking up the shot. "It would be easier if I let it be, wouldn't it?" he finally said, almost quietly. "For you."

"I'm sorry," Betsy said hastily. She bowed her head, kept her eyes down, and away from his knowing eyes. "No. I'm curious as to what you'd like me to talk about."

"It doesn't matter what I want," Scott said, almost desolately, and did pick up the shot this time, tossing it back. "It matters what you want," he went on, almost in a rasp for the first few words. "What you need. Whether that's more than I'm giving. You told me I keep you sane, Elisabeth, and I'm glad if that's true. But I'm still scared, for you. I don't know if I should be, whether it's all my own fear..." He trailed off, refilled his glass. "Clumsy," he said at last, with a swell of bitterness that was entirely self-directed. "Like I said. I'm clumsy."

"Not clumsy," Betsy said, her throat tightening up on her. She felt herself tremble a bit and she clasped her hands together to keep herself steady. She needed to be steady. Her eyes already facing downward, the golden hue of the tequila bottle caught her attention and she decidedly poured a shot for herself. With all the control she could muster, Betsy took the shot without blinking. She looked back up at Scott with obvious fear in her eyes. "I don't think I could bare you leaving me again."

Scott took a deep breath, not looking away from her frightened eyes. "I swore to you that I'd be there for you," he said, his voice low, broken. "Then I ran like a child, like a coward, and left you alone in the dark for weeks." The muscles along his jaw clenched, and he gritted his teeth, fighting for composure. "I don't blame you for being afraid. You saw the worst of me."

"It's alright," Betsy let out a strangled sound, trying to keep her composure. "What can I say, Scott?" That I still hear her? Betsy threw her hands up in frustration. "What? That I can't interact with others without feeling a panic attack coming on? Or that I still have the nightmares? You know all this...and it's why I'm not working with the older students. I'm learning to deal the best way I can. And I don't hold you responsible for any of it, I promise."

Scott looked her straight in the eye, his throat doing its best to try and close up, but he forced the words out anyway. "You don't have to deal with it on your own," he said as steadily as he could. "You don't have to lose yourself in dealing with my petty problems and insecurities." No, this wasn't coming out right, he wasn't getting right to the core of it... He stopped, poured himself another shot before he went on. "If you tell me you don't need me to help you," he went on, his hand shaking so badly that he spilled some of the tequila halfway to his lips, "if you look me in the eyes and tell me the truth, I... I won't push." There was a curious roaring at the back of his mind, as if his conscience had just sat up and started bellowing at him for being a coward, again. "I don't want to make this harder on you," he went on, a wild edge to his voice, "but I won't lose you. Especially not if there's something I could have done and didn't..."

"I love you enough to deal with any of your problems." Betsy wiped her face with the back of her hand, feeling the few strands flowing down her face. "I know that." She sniffed slowly, feeling the backwash down the link. "What makes you think you'd lose me?"

Scott set his glass down and sunk his head into his hands, something that was almost a groan slipping out. What was he doing? Pushing, not pushing, not know what the hell he should be doing and just making it harder on her...

"I'm sorry," he whispered unsteadily. It wasn't right, not to take what she wanted to give, to push her away because he thought he needed to do something... just another selfish act on his part. "I love you. I'm just scared..."

#As I love you.# Betsy collected herself, gaining control on her emotions, and trying to reform her shields. "This isn't the conversation we need to be having while getting sloshed," Betsy said, her voice already slurred. "But, haven't you noticed that it's the only time we really ever talk. Funny, that?" She stared at him, her eyes shining brightly. "I'm cracked and we both know it," she laughed hoarsely. "I just don't know how to make it right again. I don't remember how to be normal."

"Funny," Scott echoed almost emptily and looked up at her. "What do you want, Betsy?" he asked, his voice rough again. "I mean... just now. Here and now. Just ask me..."

"Scott, don't you realize that you've saved me time and time again." Betsy released her hold on her mental walls. Ringing her hands for a moment, she found strength in a moment of determination. Betsy sat up and moved toward Scott. She straddled his legs and her arms went around him. Her fingers trailed down his face, lovingly. "Be as you've always been."

Scott shivered a little at her touch. "It can't be that easy," he said uncertainly. Be what he was? Just keep stumbling along trying not to... Scott closed his eyes, wrestling himselves back under control. But his arms crept around her, seemingly of their own accord, and he let his breath out on a sigh, leaning into her. "What do we do now?" he asked. "Finish the tequila?"

#Whatever you want, luv,# Betsy replied, a soft smile shining down at him, keeping her body lined with his. "Though I don't think you're in the shape to have anymore." She leaned in quickly for a kiss to reassure him. "Right, so I'm cutting you off for your own sake."

"But I'm not on the floor yet," Scott joked weakly. "Am I?" He looked around. "Okay, sort of..."

"You will be momentairly, if I have anything to do with it," Betsy added smugly. She Complemented her last comment to Scott by starting off with a slow and languid kiss.

Current Mood: sloshed
Current Music: What If It All Means Something -- Chantal Kreviazuk