Undercloak: Part Nine
by queenB
Psylocke neatly folds the clothes she arrived at the Xavier Institute in and puts them in a locker. Her old locker. Written in Scott's precise handwriting, her code-name is still taped to the outside. She smiles as she casually searches the locker's contents, finding an old picture of Brian and Meggan. She considers putting it in her bag to take home later, but instead tacks it back up on the door.
As she fixes the picture to the inside of her locker, another photo breaks free from it's adhesive backing and flutters to the floor, landing face-down by her feet. She sits on the bench behind her and picks up the photograph. It's of her and Warren, taken nearly a year ago. She resists the urge to crumple it in her hand and instead glares at Warren's image. Her anger softens as she examines his image more carefully, noticing the huge smile plastered across his face and the dreamy look in his eyes. The man in the photo is definitely a man in love, even Betsy's frustration with him can't deny that fact. So she places the picture back in its original place, fighting back tears and asking audibly, "Why do you have to go and be such a prat, Warren? Why now... when I need you the most?"
Shaking her head slowly, she sits back down and pulls her knees into her chest, hugging them tightly. In a way, she understands Warren's flight. She knows he's just as scared as or probably more than she is. But that knowledge doesn't make the fact that he's gone any easier to deal with. She knows they should be facing this together instead of apart. Wiping her eyes dry, she makes a decision. When she's done with her Danger Room session, she's going to find Warren and make him see what an idiot he's been. Though she's hoping he'll figure that out on his own and save her the trouble.
Sifting through her bag, she removes her carefully packed katana and places it, still sheathed, on the bench in front of her. Pulling her uniform's pink sash out of her duffel, she curses under her breath as it catches on something inside the bag. When she investigates, she finds that Logan has packed more than just one uniform for her. He's seemed to gather bits and pieces from some of her other costumes.
She removes the Lady Mandarin head piece which snagged her sash and slips the fabric off of one of the helm's points, frowning at the small tear in the fabric. Warily, she places it on her head and walks to one of the full length mirrors to view herself. She squints her eyes menacingly and bears her teeth for effect before throwing the head-piece on the floor with a loud clang.
She thinks, 'This isn't me anymore,' as she walks back to her locker, leaving the helm dented and alone on the tile floor. Sifting through her bag again, she finds parts of her old armor: one of the suits she took from Revanche's room after her death.
'This is bordering on cruel, Logan.' She tosses away a chest plate from that armor, jumping slightly at the sound of it hitting another locker with a sharp crash. At the bottom of the bag, she finds the uniform she wore when she first joined the X- Men. Disdainfully, she pulls at the pink neck of the garment, intending to rip it to shreds. But something stops her, call it sentimentality or nostalgia, and she tearfully hangs it in her locker, undamaged.
Retrieving the head-piece, the chest plate, and the rest of the older garb Logan put into her bag, she places them in her locker with similar reverence before she closes the door. As she ties her sash around her waist, she thinks, 'This isn't really me, either.'
Standing again in front of the mirror, she looks hard at herself, examining the ribbons snaking their way around her arms and legs and the face that seems to change every time she begins to get used to it. She asks herself as she stares deep into the reflection of her purple eyes, standing out awkwardly from her almond-shaped lids and the glaring red tattoo covering the left side of her face, "Who are you, Betsy?"
Sighing deeply, she turns away from the mirror and pulls her hair up into a pony-tail, fastening it with an elastic band. As she exits the locker room and clicks off the light switch, she mutters to herself, answering her own question, "No better time than the present to find out."
Sitting uneasily on a hill overlooking Breakstone Lake, Warren Worthington is busy berating himself. Jaw clenched tightly, he's taking out his wrath on most of the blades of grass within his reach. Tearing fistful after fistful from the ground around him, he mutters to himself, "I'm such an idiot," over and over. He's so deeply involved with his own self-loathing that he doesn't notice as someone approaches from behind.
Still shivering slightly from the cold air he encountered higher in the atmosphere, the afternoon sun has yet to warm his chilled skin. Yet, the fact that he left his shirt behind with Psylocke is one of the lesser things he's beating himself up over. Dropping his head into his hands in frustration, he moans to himself, "Why do I have to be such a jerk?"
"'Cause dat be de way you are, plain an' simple."
Startled, Warren snaps his head up and meets the eerie gaze of Remy LeBeau. Trying to look as dignified as possible in front of his former teammate, he brushes blades of grass off his khaki pants, sits up straight, wipes his eyes and tries to hide the fact that he's pretty much falling apart. "What are you doing here, Gambit?"
Putting his hands in his pockets and looking down mirthfully at Archangel, Remy says, "Looks like I be talkin' t' you. 'Gainst my better judgement, 'course."
Crossing his arms defensively over his chest, Warren squints uneasily up at the Cajun from his seated position and seethes, "Then why don't you just leave me alone?"
"Two reasons. No, wait. Dere be t'ree. First, it be obvious you need t' talk. Second, dere's a redhead up at de house who kill me if I don't. And t'ird, well I got nothin' better t' be doin'."
After counting off his reasons for being where neither party involved wants him to be, Gambit casts Warren a mischievous smile. A smile which no doubt would make hearts any side of the Mason-Dixon line melt, but just serves to annoy Archangel even further. Warren rolls his eyes as he says, "If you haven't noticed, LeBeau, I'm not wearing a skirt. That charm of yours isn't going to go very far with me."
Remy sighs and sits down on the grass next to him as he says, "It be a hard t'ing t' turn on an' off, non? Jus' tryin' to lighten' de mood."
Dropping his head again into his hands, Warren speaks quietly, "Maybe I want to be in a bad mood."
They both sit for a while without talking, the birds chirping noisily in the trees and the water lapping gently on the lake shore in front of them. It becomes obvious to Warren that ignoring Gambit isn't going to make him go away, so he ventures, "Jean sent you to check up on me?"
Remy looks straight ahead toward the lake as he answers simply, "Oui."
"Why didn't she come to talk to me?"
He keeps looking toward the water as he says, "I t'ink she be busy wit' Betsy."
Warren noticeably stiffens at the mention of Betsy's name and asks timidly, "You saw her when she got here?"
"Oui."
Turning to look at Gambit, Warren's eyes brim with remorse and self-hatred. The cajun still stares straight ahead, avoiding eye- contact with him, respecting the last bastion of Warren's privacy. Understanding the gesture for what it is, Warren initiates the beginning of the conversation he knows is inevitable, "Did she look upset?"
"Non. She look herself. Cool as a cucumber, like she been since her accident."
Warren sighs heavily then says, "Betsy's over that. She's back to her old self. Which means..."
Gambit finally turns to look at Warren, accusation etched all over his face as he says, "Which means she be real angry."
Rubbing his forehead in attempt to relieve some of his tension, Warren says, "Yes, I guess it does."
"An' my guess be she be angry wit' you?"
His eyes meet Gambit's uncanny red on black gaze and then retreat back to the ground in front of him as he answers, "And you'd guess right."
"What did you do t' her, mon ami?"
Unable to bear Remy's admonishing tone any longer, Archangel glares angrily at him and snaps in response, "First off, since when have we been friends? And second, who are you to be judging me? You're the one who's repeatedly lied and kept things from Rogue. Who knows what else you're hiding from her. You're such a hypocrite! I can't believe you're sitting here criticizing me of all people!"
Remy laughs softly to himself and grins icily as he retorts, "I ain't accused you of nothin'. Jus' calm down, homme. T'ought we'd try an' figure dis one out together... so's you and Betts get back each other's good graces."
Squinting uneasily at Remy, Warren asks, "Why do you want to help me?"
"I already tol' you dose t'ree reasons. And dat red-headed reason number two is pretty threat'n, non?" Warren smiles weakly at Gambit as he continues, "So, what you do? Got another cherie on de side?"
Warren glares angrily at him and Remy says with a smile, "Okay dat not be it. Mebbe you jus' tell me so we don't be playing twenty questions all day?"
Groaning in annoyance, Warren says, "Alright I'll talk, but it's against my better judgement."
Stretching his legs out in front of him, Gambit makes himself more comfortable as he says, "Some of de best t'ings in life be against a person's 'better judgement,' non?" Warren nods in agreement as Remy continues, "So go on ahead and keep in min' reason number t'ree... I got nothin' better t' do. As strange as it be for de both of us, I'm here for you."
Catching the sincere look in Gambit's eyes, Warren returns it and says, "Thanks, Gambit. Thanks."
As Betsy stands alone in the cold, metal box affectionately referred to by the X-Men as the Danger Room, she hears the comm system crackle to life and Logan's gruff but concerned voice ask, "Ya ready to go, Betts?"
Looking up to the glass of the Control Room's view-port, Betsy says awkwardly, her voice bouncing off the empty walls, "As I'll ever be."
Jean's telepathic voice scurries across her surface thoughts, *We'll need to make mind-to-mind contact, Betsy.*
*As I told Logan, I'm ready.*
*No, you're not. You're not prepared to let me get any closer than I am now.*
*You mean?*
*Yes, drop the shields and let me in. I know it's hard, Betsy. But I'm here. You've got to trust me. I won't let anyone hurt you. Once I'm in, your defenses will be even stronger.*
Trust and Jean. Two words Betsy has never placed together before. Sure the two have trained together several times on the astral plane, but this is different. This time she'd be letting Jean into her inner-most thoughts, her inner-most self. Her demons would sit naked in front of another person. In all her life she's only let one other person into her mind that deeply. She's only let Warren in in fits of madness where she needed his stability to make it through the horrible nightmares that threatened to destroy her sanity. After this afternoon's scene, she isn't sure if she can trust again so quickly.
Seated next to Logan in the control booth, Jean senses Betsy's anxiety over Warren and she sends, *It's okay, Betsy. He's here now and feeling like a complete ass.*
Smirking to herself, Betsy returns, *Good.*
*He's out by the lake now, talking to Gambit.*
The comment strikes her as odd, but she lets it slide as she telepathically informs Jean, *But I can barely feel him. I didn't even know he was here.*
As she slips deeper into Betsy mind, Jean takes the opportunity to do a little inventory. *Your rapport is still functioning. It's just blocked... on your end.*
*My end?*
Jean nudges the rapport with an astral probe, gently enough not to cause any change, but urgently enough to learn more about it's status. *Yes. It seems you've cut him off. There's a slight trickle of emotions coming through, though. Enough to keep him aware of you, but that's all. You must have done it subconsciously.*
*That's odd. I thought it was his doing.*
*We can deal with this later. Meanwhile, you've seemed to let me get pretty comfortable in here. It's amazing what you can do when you're not even thinking about it.*
*Chalk it up to self-training, Jean. I don't always operate as per Xavier's cookie-cutter rules of psychic protocol.*
Chuckling at Psylocke's sarcasm, Jean retorts, *That predictable are we?*
Logan's voice interrupts their mental conversation as he says, "Alright, enough of the chit-chat. Damn telepaths always carrying on conversations behind everyone's back. I can't take ya girls anywhere."
Both Jean and Betsy grin to themselves, sharing an expression that is extraordinary in it's similarity. Logan shakes his head and looks over at Jean, her face set in an unearthly glow by the lit control panel in front of her, and tries to figure out whose smile she is smiling. He shudders as he realizes the woman next to him, for the moment, isn't completely herself and neither is the woman on the floor of the Danger Room. In fact, they're a bit of each other.
Noticing the shocked expression on her friend's face, Jean says to Logan, her words edged with a slight British accent, "Don't worry, Logan. We're just getting used to each other. Everything should be falling into place just about... now."
Jean pats Logan gently on the arm and motions for him to start the Danger Room exercise as Betsy readies her katana and crouches in a defensive position. Suddenly, the walls of the room shimmer and contort and Betsy finds herself surrounded by a throng of ninjas, their eyes completely devoid of life, their swords drawn and ready for action.
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