Scott visits Betsy

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

He'd taken the time to change his shirt. The blue one she had bought him for his birthday, and had planned to wear for her one day.

One day.

He shoved down the thought and concentrated only on the here and now. Not the future, not the past. He changed his pants too, into a dark color that the label on the inside back said was black. Somber. Fitting to the occasion, Scott thought. Socks, shoes, and the final sleeve buttons, and he was ready to go.

The walk to the med lab was mercifully short, and unendurably long. He'd stayed away from it as much as he could. Too many memories. Too many times the thought had popped into his head that Jean wasn't in bed yet because she was still in the lab. Too many times he'd thought that he'd head down and drag her back to bed. He couldn't do that anymore, and it still hurt.

And now, Betsy was there, withdrawn, retreated into herself. Was it due to Essex's incompetence, or Betsy's fear? Had she really been ready for the operation? Not physically; he had little doubts that she could have withstood the surgery. But mentally? Did Essex counsel her on the changes regaining her sight would bring? Sure, she'd been able to see before, but that didn't mean the change was easy. What if her coma was self-induced?

The door was in front of him. Scott stared at for a time, before finally opening it and going inside.

The equipment was the first thing he saw, surrounding Betsy and filling the room. But once he caught sight of her, laying still as death on the bed, the rest of the room faded from view.

"Hey," he spoke quietly, moving toward the bed. There was a stool next to it, still warm from the previous visitor. Absently, Scott wondered who it had been, but then his attention returned to the reason for his visit. "How are you doing, Ms. Braddock? Still lying abed, I see, and so late in the day. You know, I'll have to mark you down as tardy for today. And a teacher, to boot!" He perched on the stool, hands on his knees. He wasn't ready to touch her yet.

"Bad joke, I know. I suck at them." He smiled in remembrance. "Jean used to tell me...well," he trailed off, smile fading.

He began again. "I wore your shirt. Oh, sorry, my shirt. The blue one, the one you gave me for my birthday." His fingers plucked lightly at her gift, pulling it away from his skin. "I wish you could see it. Not through my eyes, that would make it seem dark purple. Though, it might match your hair..." He reached out then, stroking his hand across her forehead and through her hair, being careful not to disrupt any leads or wires. It was shorter now, just to her shoulders. He found he missed its length, though she still looked good. As always.

"I miss you," he began, willing the threatening tears away. "I know I was distant for so long. I wish you had told me, though. I know you were worried you might not make it. Or maybe that I'd talk you out of it. Or try to, and then we'd fight, and ... well, stop speaking to each other. Maybe you were just being selfish, or wanted to surprise me. And everyone else, of course. It's not like you did this for me. You did it for you, I know." His hand had strayed across her cheek, caressing the smooth skin.

"I don't know why you won't wake up, though. Betsy, please don't be afraid. Please. We can get through this together. If you'd just let me in, let someone in. You're a strong woman. You taught me that it was okay for me to open up my heart again. That the potential for hurt was worth the risk. It was, Betsy. But now you've locked yourself away, hiding from me, from Ororo, from Emma and Pete, from Charles. And most of all, from yourself. I know you hurt. I know you're scared. But you can share the pain, the fear, and lessen your burdens."

Scott hadn't noticed when he'd moved from the stool to sit on the bed, clasping her unmoving hands in his. He brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back, then on her palm.

"Essex says the surgery was successful. So if you opened your eyes now, you'd see this beautiful blue shirt and its more humble wearer, and I'd get to see your new eyes. Do you think you can do that for me, Elisabeth?"

His fingers moved along her wrist, and he wondered from where the dampness had come. Another drop fell upon his finger as it traced the delicate blue vein, and he knew. Oh. He'd been crying a while, for the tears to leak from behind his glasses.

Closing his eyes, Scott removed his ruby quartz lenses and a handkerchief from his pocket. First he wiped his eyes, then the lenses. He'd done it with his eyes closed for so long that he could tell by touch if they were smeared.

And since his eyes were closed, he didn't notice the muscle twitch in Betsy's cheek. Her eyes moved behind closed lids, back and forth, once, twice, then she was still.

Scott put his glasses back on, and smiled at her. "Sorry about that. I'm sure that you'll be terribly upset that you missed that display of emotions, when you wake up."

He watched her for a few more minutes, holding her unmoving hand in his. Then, with a sigh, he got off the stool. "Be well, Elisabeth," he whispered, leaning over to place a kiss on her lips, before carefully replacing her hand, and leaving her to her solitude.