Scott and Betsy, Sunday, on his mindscape

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

While Scott's doing his Sleeping Beauty act in the medlab, Betsy ventures into his mind to see just what on earth is going on there. The answer probably should have been obvious.



Scott's dreamscape, upon first glance, was a hallway. Featureless, institutional, lined with heavy metal doors at various intervals. Everything was in shades of red. There were no identifying marks on the doors or walls, nothing personal about the scene at all.

If she had learned anything at her time at this school, it was how to traverse the treacherous waters of the dreamscape. Betsy viewed the surroundings with a familiar scowl; it wasn't her place to question the decorator, only to find him. Yet trying to locate the consciousness of a person who'd been raised with a telepath always proved a bit trickier.

Betsy eyed the various doors, her hands gliding above the steel cages with caution. She had already pushed her emotions deep behind her walls, in order to seek Scott out. Each time, she passed a doorway, Betsy felt the sizzle of energy pass through her as she accessed another conduit within Scott's subconscious. If only she could center in on the man himself.

There was a ripple in the shadows towards the far end of the corridor, a flash of light that was almost like the fluttering of wings. A short distance ahead, one of the doors flew open and Scott, in his X-Men leathers, emerged, running in the direction of the flash.

Seeing the blur take off, Betsy took off in a sprint after him, keeping her barrier about ten feet ahead of her actual body. She hoped that it would be enough warning against any unseen twists and turns. Flying through the corridors, Betsy clenched down on the turbulent tide she felt riding down the link. No time to coddle him, dear. Betsy heard her mother's voice ring loudly in her head. Only time for the truth. No matter how painful.

A corner, suddenly, and Scott was standing there, water lapping at his boots. The corridor beyond him was flooded, and there was steam rising from the water. He was staring at it, the muscles in his jaw twitching as if he was fighting to hold in his reaction.

And there she was, standing a few feet behind him, watching. Betsy allowed herself a few minutes to notice the water, before bringing her eyes back on him. She felt the tension in his jaw, as if her own mouth felt taut from the stress. He was waiting for something, but for what, exactly?

The steam faded. The water continued to lap at his boots, and Scott waited, staring fixedly into the shadowy depths. The minutes passed, and he started to shake his head, a barely noticeable gesture at first, then more vehement.

"No," he muttered. "No, that's not right." He started forward, knee-deep in the water in moments, plowing onwards steadily.

"Scott!" Betsy called out, her hand outstretched. She looked down at the rising water with reluctance and after a moment, moved forward. If these Prada boots had been real, we'd have a serious talk about adjusting your dreamscape, Scott. Instead, Betsy muttered to herself, repeating every few feet. "Not alone. You're not alone."

He stared at her, almost blankly, then looked back out at the water, as if confused. "But..."
Then the dreamscape shifted around them and they were sitting alone on the Blackbird, Scott in the pilot's seat. Outside the window were snow-covered pines and mountains.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his tone almost conversational.

Betsy blinked back at the sudden change of scenery. Instead, she shifted deeper into the passenger seat. She guiltily avoided eye contact and looked out into the familiar scene. Alkali. "Well," she sighed. "I'm trying to fix you without mucking up your brain."

"I need fixing, do I?" There was a certain wry, weary humor in the dream-Scott's voice. "Sprung a leak? Slipped a gear? You'd think that would be covered by warranty."

"Right. And here I am completing a maintenance check of all your gears and have found some parts compromised." Betsy added her tone, keeping in line with his lightness. "I don't think it'll cost you much. But, there're always...complications, you know."

"Maybe I don't want to be fixed," Scott said after a moment, the humor in his voice gone. "Let's say it's not a problem. Just one more step along the road."

"What if you've taken a step in the wrong direction? Wouldn't you stop for directions after long?" Betsy felt the creases of worry form between her eyebrows. He couldn't fight her on this and she couldn't force it on him. Betsy continued, "Wouldn't want to be reckless about it now, would we?"

"I don't know," Scott murmured, his voice distant as he stared out the windows. "She keeps telling me I should be more spontaneous."

Hearning something move behind them, Betsy turned to look at the passenger seats of the Blackbird. Seeing nothing, she felt the crease deepened. She felt her heart racing and somehow, Betsy tightened the mental walls encased around her. "Who's told you to be more spontaneous?" Betsy asked, the tinge of fear laced thick in her words.

"Can't you hear her?" Scott asked, frowning dimly. "Keep an eye on the shadows. They move."

Betsy stood up, feeling the adrenaline forcing its way through her veins. She moved with a quickness through the Blackbird and found nothing. Her mind already searching the plane and the surrounding landscape had picked up on a slight tremor just beyond her reach. It can't be, she thought, her stomach lurching. Betsy turned around violently and exited the Blackbird, in search of the enigma.

She came out the hatch, and instead of Alkali Lake it was the mansion, or at least the grounds, wrapped in winter just as Alkali had been. The sky was filled by a brilliant aurora, something that would never be seen over Westchester County.

Sitting crosslegged in the snow, wearing his visor and no shirt, Scott stared at her steadily. "I don't know why you're surprised," he told her. "Wasn't it inevitable?"

"Not possible." Betsy asked, her voice cold and still. She moved just inches away from Scott, strengthening her stance and looking about the scenery as it were ready to attack. Feeling her resolve strengthen, Betsy reveled in the surge within her. There would be no cowardice today. "She can't be here with you. He promised he'd keep her locked away. Forever."

"Locked away?" Scott frowned, looking troubled, almost pained. "But... no, you never asked me that, did you? To do that?" He rose, his posture tense, almost defensive. "I won't, damn it! I killed her, and I won't kill you too because I forget!"

The fire in her eyes died down slightly. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Betsy gave up. She brought her gaze back on Scott, gradually allowing the calm to retake her. On instinct, Betsy had misunderstood the signs. Taking one dead demented woman for another. Not Kwannon, but Jean. "Forget what, Scott?"

Scott shook his head, that pained look flashing to anger. "You know," he snapped at her almost feverishly, turning away. "Don't pretend you don't." With a few quick steps, he was away, into the woods. There was a hissing noise, and a vaguely human-shaped flame appeared, drifting
after him.

"Stop this," she hissed to herself. "It's not going to help matters." Betsy closed her eyes for a moment, easily pinpointing Scott's location and shimmered out of view.

It was the pool hall, this time. Scott was facing off with Digger, a fierce smile on his face. "Come on," he taunted the big man. "I hardly felt that. You hit like a girl." Digger growled and moved in a blur, tackling him to the ground.

"Enough!" Betsy growled. Digger's hand was in mid-punch and she could see the look of detachment on Scott's face from acros the bar as the punch connected. She raised her hand in mid-air and the scene froze before her.

It took Scott a minute to realize what had happened and she sat down in front of him, as he climbed up from under the massive mutant. She could've moved him, but why would she do him any favors?

"You know, I don't think I can handle everyone running from me for much longer."

Scott stared at her. "Then why are you chasing me?" he asked, his voice hoarse. The bar shifted around them, until they were standing back in the hallway where they'd started, Scott in his X-Men uniform once again. "Wanting to force me to see it? To know? Can't I even run away here, of all places?" There was a note almost of desperation in his voice. One of the doors opened; Alex looked out, shook his head disgustedly at Scott, and then vanished again.

"Not when it's nearly killing you, I won't." Her voice strained. She watched the image of Alex appear and Betsy felt her ire growing. Leaning her hand on his shoulder and pushing him against the wall, Betsy set her gaze on him. "I will force it, Scott, especially when you need some sense beat into you."

The threat was empty, but forceful enough to have some weight. "You haven't been able to hide anything from me since the moment we met, Scott. No matter what you think."

"Then take a look," Scott said almost bitterly, and every door in the hallway flung itself open. The air was suddenly alive with noise - screaming, explosions, sobbing voices. "See if you can find any sense here, Betsy. Let me know if you have any luck."

She took a few steps back from him, letting her arms rest at her sides, as she took in the barrage that made up Scott's life. It wasn't exactly how she wanted to sift through his mind, but at least he'd given her access.

And so, Elisabeth Braddock took a deep inhale of breath and moved toward the first door. She realized she would have to sift through the chaos to find the actual source of his problem.

She looked hopefully over her shoulder at Scott and offered her hand to him.

Scott looked at her hand for a long moment. He stood there stiffly, his whole body quivering with tension. "I suppose it's not like I have anywhere else to be, while you're walking through my nightmares," he said very softly, then took her hand. His was ice-cold.

"Honestly, I had hoped you wouldn't want to be anywhere else," she added, her voice deadpan. As if there wasn't enough macabre in their relationship, Betsy gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. She projected her field farther out to encompass Scott and allowed warmth to fill their bubble. She looked down at their hands and smiled. "No worries, alright? It'll be like a field trip, you know; fun and adventure around every corner."

"You won't like this one," Scott murmured as they stepped through the door and into the mansion. Or the ruins of the mansion. Bullet holes marked the wood paneling of the walls, and furniture was overturned or shattered. "Everyone's dead here."

"You've had these dreams for how long now?" Betsy asked cautiously, not wanting to push too much.

"Every so often since Stryker. More since Pete's old employers broke in." He walked beside her down the hall, still holding her hand. "Then, anything that happened, there'd be a new one. Grey Crow's people coming back at the mansion. Mistra. Shiro blowing up on the ground..."

"'Right, and anything particulary damaging happening in the real world, basically sets off this lovely memory in your mind. But, I don't think this is the real reason for the headaches and nightmares, luv." She looked down the hall and caught sight of the nebulous shadows, dancing along the walls of the student corridor. "I've got a feeling, we're only gazing at the surface of things. We need to go deeper."

Scott stopped, and would have pulled his hand out of hers if she hadn't held on tightly. "No," he said, his voice tight and strained. "This is as far as it goes, Betsy."

"And what would we have accomplished if we leave right now, Scott? Nothing." She turned her gaze back to him. Did he think she would let him go through this alone? "I won't let it hurt you, whatever it is. Please. Trust me to keep us safe."

He made a wordless noise that was half-frustration, half-plea, before his shoulders sagged. "We won't find her anyway," he said, his voice sounding very tired suddenly. "She always runs. There's always something holding me back."

Betsy tilted her head in confusion. "Wait. Holding you back from what exactly?" Then the realization had hit her. The ghost that haunted Scott, the nightmares and headaches. Hell, even the bloody shadow. It all began with Jean.

"She was quieter, up until the last few months," Scott said, not looking at her. "Then, everywhere I look... fire in the shadows."

"And water..." Betsy took pause. She turned away from the shadow and faced him. Keeping her other hand wrapped tightly around his, she began to give his shoulder slow ministrations with the other. Don't rush him into it, her conscience chided her.

"I could have blasted the hatch open." That came from another Scott, leaning on a doorframe halfway down the damaged corridor. He eyed the two of them for a moment. "Or tried."

"Or not taken my eyes off her in the first place," Scott's voice came from behind them. "I knew there was something wrong."

She offered a glance to both incarnations, acknowledging their presence in this place. "And that still might not have worked." Betsy said, her hands going to his face, trying to rope him back. "No matter how much you think the situation would've changed because of what you didn't do. You have no idea how that might've changed what did happen. Hindsight, my luv," Betsy said, her voice calm but still full of emotion. "is an exact science. What happens in this life is not."

"Then why is she still here?" the Scott she was touching said, his voice low and wounded-sounding. "Why haunt me like this, if she's not punishing me... she won't leave the link alone..."

She quirked her head to the side in confusion. The link? Betsy stood motionless for a second, trying to recall any indication of sensing a pre-existing connection. For precaution sake, Betsy did a cursory scan of his mind for any inklings that might hint at some other psychic manipulation. Yet, she found none. If there was someone here with them, they were deeply hidden and experienced enough to hide from her.

Could it be possible? Yes. No. Maybe. It could also be a ghost sensation? The link Scott and Jean shared was cut off abruptly and without the proper safe guards to ensure against brain damage. Her head was churning thoughts at break-neck speeds. Instinctively, Betsy braced herself against the worst. "Scott. Show me. I want you to show me the link you shared with Jean."

The mindscape flickered and changed, and then they were standing on a flat-topped rock. All around them was a shifting, black-crusted field of lava, burning its way through a desolate landscape. Steam rose from spots where the blast crust broke, revealing the red-hot magma beneath. "It used to be dark. Dead," Scott whispered dully. "Lately, though..."

Betsy moved forward onto the harden lava floor. Her eyes darted up to the sky at the boom thunder and the accompanying lightening. "Scott, we're seriously going to have to talk about renovating in here." She took another step forward and was kicked back abruptly by an unseen force. Betsy fell uncermoniously unto the floor, next to Scott. She was winded, but unhurt. The sky lit up, white-hot streaks lined the clouds in a fury. "Do you think this means I'm not wanted here?" Betsy asked, picking herself off the ground.

"I don't know," Scott said, his face turned in the other direction as he watched something else. "Maybe ask her." Out there on the lava was a pillar of flame, hovering there as if watching them.

"Why can't the cause of all your problems be hidden in a secluded villa, Scott?" Betsy grimaced. "I could do with going to a visit at a private spa and massage parlour?" She offered a look to her
partner. "Coming?"

Scott hesitated, then stepped out onto the laval with her. The pillar of flame quivered, then started to move off. A curse, low and desperate, erupted from Scott, and he ran after it. "Stop!" he called out raggedly, breathing heavily. "Damn it, stop it... stop running from me! I'm sorry!"

Betsy tried to console him, bringing her hand out to him. It was then she heard the floor crack and everything around her was consumed by fire and ash. "Scott!" Betsy screamed, as she fell through. Her hands scrambled for him, but the distance seemed too great.

Fire. He remembered falling through it before, tumbling helplessly into the inferno. It seared through his leathers, through flesh and bone, and Scott screamed as it wrapped itself around him almost tenderly, promising it wouldn't let go...

She woke up on a ledge, the spot where she stood was now the home to a massive canyon. Betsy stood up in awe at the change and she saw the flickering flame taunting her from afar. It was then, she heard the sound of a blood-curdling scream and moved into action. She threw herself forward and crawled up the rockface. About ten feet from the top, fear and concern overwhelmed her, as Scott's voice was silenced through the link. Betsy continued her climb up at harrowing speeds. When she reached the surface, she threw her hand over the top and felt it connect with Scott's seemingly lifeless one.

Adrenaline pumped freely through her veins and she refused to let go. Betsy protectively used her body to keep him from harm. She hovered over him, urging his consciousness to wake up, to assure him the fire was not real. When Scott called out her name, she couldn't help but sob.

"You see?" he whispered raggedly. For a moment, his leathers flickered, revealing charred and blackened skin beneath. "Won't let me go. Always here..."

"And I can't not follow her," Scott's voice said from a little ways away. He was there, too, sitting cross-legged on the rock. Bare-chested, one hand over his heart. Blood sleeping through his fingers. "She wants me back. I don't think she thinks she ever lost me."

"This is your nightmare." Betsy muttered, bowing her head. She brought her right hand, tentatively over his chest, and healed the image before her. She pushed down on his skin and pulled away the burnt flesh. It broke away easily like dried-up snakeskin. Betsy looked over to the other Scott, her eyes glowing bright. She brought her hand up in his direction and she watched as the wound faded. Blood remained on the avatar's torso and hands, but the damage had been healed. She bowed her head against his chest once again, breathing in his scent. "Everything else only compounded what was really the cause for your nightmares."

A third Scott knelt down beside her and his own unmoving form. He was in street clothes, wearing the glasses instead of a visor. "Where it all started to go wrong," he said quietly. The area beyond the rock face was suddenly filled by a winter-locked forest and a familiar lake. "It doesn't mean I don't love you. I do. More than I can say." His expression was tender suddenly, all the tension in his body softening as he reached up a hand to touch her face.

"It just means it's still here," the second Scott said, staring out at Alkali Lake. "The worst no-win scenario of them all."

"Jean." Betsy whispered. Her heart ached just hearing the name, but Betsy couldn't focus on it. Scott needed her. "I can remove most of the damage, so you won't have to deal with the headaches and nightmares anymore." She looked down at the man in her arms and lovingly cupped his face. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to face the one standing before her without feeling heartbroken. "I'm sure that will appease Alison and Maddie's concern for the time being."

The other Scotts vanished, leaving only the one lying in her arms. "Take out the foundation and the whole house crumbles," he murmured with a sigh, his voice still pained as he turned his head towards her touch. "I don't know, Betsy. I trust you. I just don't know whether it can be fixed..."

"It can, " Betsy said, reassuringly. "It will take longer than I expected, but I have nowhere pressing to be this weekend." A soft smile on her face, Betsy leaned in and kissed him. She fed him strength through their link, all the things that he was lacking Betsy gave willingly. ~We'll fix this together.~ Betsy sent telepathically. ~I promise you, luv.~