Chapter 13: The Prologue
Lorna took a hit.
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Kurt Wagner, better known as Nightcrawler, was a man of faith. All too often, his brush with the unusual, extraordinary, and miraculous made him question his devotion, but he remained steadfast in his belief of a Divine Plan. Even cosmic entities like Galactus, the Beyonder, and--dare he say it?--the Phoenix needed an origin. Additionally, he liked to think they needed a purpose too.
So when Betsy came back from the dead, he didn’t question. He embraced the miraculous fortune and went about his business of welcoming a friend’s return home. With Kitty and Hank also in the mansion, why, this was a call for celebration!
Well, a toned down celebration at least. Rumors throughout the Xavier Institute traveled fast and the newest details painted a trio of very touchy, and in the case of Hank and Betsy, very confused people. Summarizing Jean, none of them needed a stimulus overload, so the plan about a mansion-wide surprise party gave way to a more practical, no pressure invitation to an old favorite: Harry’s Hideaway. The moody could brood and boisterous could chortle, but Kurt banked on good ol’ Harry’s (with a little help from his food and brews) bringing out the best in everyone.
He’d spread the news to all the appropriate sources, and now, he approached his final invite: Frau Braddock herself. Really, he saved her for last not because of malice but because she’d sequestered herself in the Danger Room the entire morning with (and this name sent a tremor up his spine) Emma Frost. The vile woman was capable of anything, and he witnessed many of the most vicious mind games she’d played. Ok, Kurt was a forgiving man, though he was far from naïve. People could change, but the White Queen, who steadfastly maintained her less than personable demeanor and questionable morals, didn’t show signs of change. To Kurt, that stubbornness was grounds enough to severe ties with her.
The Professor thought otherwise.
This was the same woman who led the Hellfire club. This was the same woman who ruined the lives of young mutants. This was the same woman who murdered her own sister. This was the same woman who was most likely responsible for Sean Cassidy’s current dangerous behavior. What could the Professor possibly see to allow her into the X-Men?
Kurt sighed. Old prejudices were hard to ignore. He’d be more apt to turn the other cheek to Emma if he was certain she wouldn’t ignore his cheek altogether and plunge a knife into his heart... then twist it before shoving it deeper into his newfound chest cavity... then shove it again so the handle of the knife got covered in gore.
However, such was an issue for another time.
He had a party to plan.
“Oh Frau Braddock,” he called out in a sing songy voice while he sauntered closer to Betsy’s room, “Could you spare me some of your precious- Eh?”
No, Nightcrawler didn’t want any “Eh”s, Canadians, or Wolverines, bub. Being the private type, Betsy kept her door closed (if not locked) at all times: today she’d left it ajar. Maybe she was still moving furniture back from storage, but his hyper-keen hearing revealed a single person’s quiet, rhythmic breaths. Wanting to check on his friend, Kurt nudged the door open and poked his head in.
There Betsy peacefully lay on her large bed, blankets covering everything but an arm and her head. Her room was in slight disarray but looked to be approaching immaculate. Katanas hung the wall, vases and sculptures sat in display cases or cardboard boxes, Japanese lamps remained unlit, and an opened dresser overflowed with clothes. Very normal, nothing out of place, except for Emma Frost.
Seated on an executive leather chair at Betsy’s bedside, the blonde had her feet propped up and a thick wad of papers, topped off by an uncapped fountain pen, across her lap. One arm sat on the chair’s armrest but the other arm extended to Betsy. To Kurt’s surprise, the women’s hands touched, and not just touched, more like wove together in a tapestry of fingers. The scene would’ve been endearing if he didn’t notice Betsy’s lack of breath.
Surprise turned to outrage as he automatically assumed the worst. “Get away from her!”
The yell jostled Emma awake. Student essays and one expensive Mont Blanc pen crash landed even before her eyes fluttered open. Years of hard living and sudden Sentinel attacks forced her into action, and she tried to defend herself... which would’ve been the smart idea if she wasn’t lying so awkwardly. Pushed by her scrambling, the chair wheeled out from under her, leaving no support for her torso. Precariously balanced, Emma’s rear end bottomed out and pulled the rest of her body along with it for the ride. She averted the embarrassing fall when Betsy’s cat-like reflexes took control.
Using the bed as spring, Emma threw her hips up, planted her hands on the ground, and back flipped. She’d overshot the chair, but her battle instincts prompted her to swing her legs out, effectively rocketing the seat at Kurt. Reflexes none too shabby himself, Nightcrawler hurdled the projectile and charged forward while Emma landed onto Betsy’s nightstand in a sitting position.
Kurt left no time for the blonde to recover. He’d seen Emma’s devastating telepathic powers at work and didn’t want to give her any opportunity to get into his mind. He led with his fist to score a quick hit and end the encounter; Emma would have none of it and ducked the attack. Using her shoulder, she upended him and let his own force guide him into the wall. She quickly jumped away to put distance between them.
From beneath covers, a groggy Betsy popped her head out and shouted, “Kurt! Emma! Stop!”
While Emma stayed in her fighting stance, Kurt--stunned and slack-jawed--tumbled to the floor and stared at Betsy. “You’re alive,” he gasped. “I thought Emma...”
He trailed off, but a cursory scan of his mind told Betsy all she needed to know. “She’s been nothing but helpful, Kurt. It’s,” she stopped to search for the right word before settling on, “complicated. I’m not hurt.”
She glanced at Emma. Tense fingers, infinitesimally squinted eyes, and impassive face signaled the blonde’s readiness to protect herself, and by psychic attack if need be. *I said stop, Emma,* Betsy repeated over their rapport. She returned her gaze to Kurt but kept the mental conversation going. *He was too gung ho, but you’re not doing yourself favors by looking like you’re going to turn his brains to jelly.*
*Next time someone assaults you, let’s see how calm you’re going to be.*
*Bloody hell, I said stop already!*
*Stop what? Protecting myself from random X-Men attacks? This proves how little they think of me and I’m returning the favor.*
Arguing with Emma was like jabbing yourself in the eye with an ice pick: painful, pointless, and stupid. Betsy hoped for more luck by talking to the mostly jovial, devil-may-care Nightcrawler.
“Kurt, could you apologize to Emma?”
He’d messed up, plain and simple. He assumed too much and let his personal prejudices cloud his judgment. True, Emma earned his distrust, but Kurt Wagner was never one to defend clearly wrong actions, least of all when he perpetrated those actions. Hypocrisy never set well with him.
He picked himself up and swallowed his pride (What remained of it anyway.). “My apologies to both of you,” he uttered, voice shaded by embarrassment, “Especially to Emma. My reaction was unacceptable.”
*What a pathetic understatement.*
*Emma!*
*Oh please, I didn’t project my thoughts.*
Exchange unheard, Kurt continued, “How about I buy a round for you ladies tonight at Harry’s? Let me regain some of my dignity, no?”
Betsy happily nodded at the proposition. “We’ll be glad to come. What time?”
*Suddenly you’re making decisions for me?*
*Pipe down. You want the others to trust you? Go out with them more often. It’s called bonding. Try it, you’ll be surprised.*
A quick, nearly imperceptible flash of hurt blitzed Emma, but she covered it up well. Betsy only caught the tail end--all she saw was the blonde’s old student, Everett, bloodied.
Encouraged by the enthusiasm, Kurt puffed away and reappeared at the door. “Sevenish,” he drawled, leaning against the frame. Then with a touch of impishness, he added, “Wear something... appropriate.”
“Kurt, it’s Harry’s. A barrel would be appropriate.”
The man had the audacity to wink. “My point exactly, Frau Braddock. Auf wiedersehen.”
And poof he went, the unpleasant smell of brimstone the only sign of his departure. Finally, Emma relaxed herself. Shaking her head in exasperation, she stooped down to retrieve her spilled papers. Sensing the discontent, Betsy crawled out of bed to lend a hand and smooth over Emma’s mood.
*If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.*
*No, no,* Emma sighed, *You were right.*
Betsy failed to sniff out traces of the blonde’s bitterness, instead finding uncharacteristic defeat. Not like her to deflate from queen bitch to wounded poodle in seconds. Few topics cut through her armor so quickly, and Betsy wasn’t sure any of them were up for discussion.
*Classic X-Men procedure never to leave others alone,* said Emma, sniffing out Betsy’s purpose right away, *You know, I have my bouts with lucidity as well. Can’t I be self-critical without having it become an earth shattering revelation? Any shrewd entrepreneur acknowledges flaws and fixes them. We exude arrogance, but our minds work on another level. You’re getting a behind the scenes look, so just back away and enjoy the thought process.*
Amazing how Emma turned an entire playing field on its head and to her advantage. Too bad Betsy wasn’t backing off. *Don’t close up on me, Emma. This is about more than Kurt assuming the worst. You’re still not over Genosha, Generation X, or the Hellions. What I said about trust, that made you think, didn’t it? Made you think that maybe if you’d been more trustworthy you could’ve made a difference in their fates. Made you think that you were never good with trust, placing it in people who only betrayed you like your sister.*
*Am I like a broken toy to you?* Emma snarled. *Do you feel the urge to fix me? Do us both a favor and shove it!*
By now, the two of them had gathered all the papers. Anyone walking in (or walking by, seeing how the door was wide open) would’ve caught them crouched on the ground engaged in an intense staring match. Emma’s mental shouts slid off of Betsy, hostility and annoyance going unrecognized.
Betsy narrowed her eyes. *Did I imagine that sudden stab of regret and Monet holding Everett’s bloody corpse?*
A loud thunder crack of a slap rang out. The slapper: Emma. The slapped: Betsy. *I told you to keep to your own mind.*
How hard was the slap? Betsy’s teeth numbed. *Then ignore what’s obviously eating away at you? Wait until you’re so thoroughly consumed by your demons that you won’t even accept help, much less acknowledge your helplessness? Sure, I’ll stop bothering you, just because I want to watch you spiral into a manic depression while we have this incredibly strong mind link on. Then maybe I’ll find the will to throw myself off a building and see if this brand, spanking new demon body dies like the rest.*
*Laying on the sarcasm much?*
*We’re stuck together, and I’d much rather we acknowledge that than dance around it whenever we’re uncomfortable. I’m not asking you to pour your life into my hands, but I am asking you to have a grain of faith in me. If today and yesterday were any evidence, we’ll be needing each other.*
*I trust you-*
*Then do it, don’t say it.*
That tore the last of Emma’s restraint. Holy crap, wasn’t this old material? *Are you stuck on repeat?* demanded Emma as she bit her lower lip, *We’ve had this conversation before. Look, I accept my misgivings about trust and I agree we have to pull together if only to keep ourselves sane. We need time. Time to find out what’s going on, time to change, time to adapt. Where are you not getting that change takes time? What else do you want from me? I’m making my goddamn best effort!*
*Then trust me!*
*I am! I trust you with my memories, my powers, and my mind! Why else would I let you romp around in my head? Why else would I let you recall my past, things I haven’t told another soul? Anyone else, I’d have them mind wiped and shipped off to be at the Hellfire Club’s mercy.*
*Why won’t you-*
Emma held her hand to stop Betsy. *There’s some things I’m not ready to face, and let’s leave it at that.* Her attitude held no room for argument, but there was something else under her tone, something she didn’t want to let out. *I’m going to go to my room and finish grading these papers before our... engagement with Mr. Wagner.*
*Engagement? Emma, this is a drink at a bar. You know, simple, low key affair with few people?*
*Haven’t you noticed that nothing is ever simple around here?*
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- To be continued...
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