Chapter 17: Danger Zone
In a half decayed, half ablaze Manhattan, Betsy smashed Sabertooth’s head in and smiled when he exploded.
Danger Room drones: gotta love ‘em.
Kurt’s party didn’t turn out as well as everyone had hoped. Rogue seemed uncomfortable without Remy. Emma understandably stormed out. Scott wasn’t there and Jean didn’t care, a little detail which got worse when Logan became a little too buddy-buddy with her during the dart match. People walked on eggshells around Hank, especially Betsy herself.
Thus, the party wasn’t as much a letdown as it was an unmitigated disaster. Unfortunately for everyone, things only got worse when they headed home.
Some unknown mutant showed up demanding sanctuary a few hours ago, and of course, the Professor obliged. A whirlwind of activity followed. Wolverine grilled this Fantomex person about the Weapon Plus claims while Scott roped Tessa and Bishop into researching the man’s past. Paige went off to call Warren, leaving Jubilee to bother Hank who was talking to Ororo. Jean had a few words with an increasingly odd Lorna, probably about those wedding plans they’d been cooking up.
To Betsy, the mansion felt like a time bomb. So, what better way to remove herself from the world’s troubles than beat the living daylights out of some poor simulations?
She jumped over Matsu’o’s sword and drove her heel through his chest. Another bang, another round of enemies. Gunfire blazed her from the side: Deadpool, and next to him, the Hulk. The two combined into an impressive close-range long-range tandem and worked to pin Betsy down and negate her speed. In reality, this fight would’ve probably been over--she would’ve struck down Deadpool with a telepathic attack and the Hulk? Running seemed like a fine idea if telepathy didn’t work. Luckily, these were drones nowhere near the power of the real things. Betsy ducked and watched the Hulk ram his meaty fist clear through the corner of a building.
Ok, revision: not nowhere near, but pretty damned close to the real things.
The Danger Room doors opened, admitting a cigar smoking Wolverine. He pulled on his mask and grunted, “You could use a hand, Betts.”
Her foot imbedded itself into the Hulk’s groin and caused the mammoth to double over. She rolled to avoid Deadpool’s throwing knives, picked up a sewer lid, and decapitated the drone after hurling it from a crouching position.
She grinned toothily at Logan. “Thanks, old man, but you’re a little late.”
Since Logan was closer to him now, the Hulk drone charged him. Logan stepped up to meet his attacker, claws unsheathed and fist screaming into the thing’s midsection. Adamantium and adamantium reinforced bone shredded steel and circuitry. The Hulk slumped then dropped when Logan removed his arm.
Shink went his claws as they retracted.
“Them’s fightin’ words where I come from.”
“Glad to know they still speak the Queen’s English in Canada.”
The cigar butt fell to the ground. “Run practice routine eighteen,” he called to the computer, “Setting: dojo.”
The apocalyptic New York downtown blurred into a serene but Spartan Japanese dojo containing sliding screens and a breathtaking mountaintop view. The soft sound of a waterfall mingled with chirping birds and rustling leaves. Cherry blossoms blew through the doors and filled the air like a spring time festival.
Wolverine dropped into a guarded stance and circled Betsy.
They’d fought with and against each other countless times before. No one in the mansion could hold their own against Logan except Betsy, and coincidentally, no one in the mansion enjoyed fighting as much as them either. The battle was their sanctuary, the flow of blocks and blows calming them into meditative states. Wasn’t surprising they spent many cold nights like this, locked in combat and trapped in their own minds. Both had enough angst to combat and enough aggression to release.
They forged their friendship through fighting, and they cherished it.
Betsy attacked first, a jump kick. Logan sidestepped and grabbed her ankle, but instead of seizing the advantage, his face seized a blast of pain when she contorted mid-flight and drove her other foot into his jaw.
He massaged the painful joint as she sprung away. “Nice move.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Logan.”
“A man can try.”
His turn to attack, and this time he didn’t hold back. The last hit was a gimme: he didn’t want to tax Betsy too much since she just, well, you know, came back from the dead and all. The girl showed no rust, so the gloves came off the fight got cracking for reals.
Then the thinking started.
Weapon Plus. More exploited mutants. Chance to see his past finally. That Fantomex guy wasn’t the cleanest of characters, but he seemed too desperate to be pulling lies out of his ass.
Sure enough, he wanted protection and revenge. Protection part Logan could understand, but the revenge part... people had scores of reasons for revenge, and not all of them were good, reasonable, or simple. One thing Logan hated was being played for a fool, and Fantomex sounded like he was jerking the X-Men around on the revenge garbage. Dude gave no reason for wanting to bring Weapon Plus down and wouldn’t say nothing more.
Either his reason would nullify the X-Men’s goodwill to help or he didn’t have one.
Logan disliked both conclusions.
While he simmered over his past, Betsy boiled about her present. This fight proved it: she was quicker, sturdier, stronger, and more agile now. She didn’t tire, but she did hurt--still deciding if that was a good thing or not. Formerly, she wasn’t as fast or durable as Logan, and attrition usually ended their fights, not martial prowess. This body gave her the little edge to draw her even with the man, and now, they could truly test their vast abilities against each other.
Comforted Betsy to know Emma walked out of Harry’s with her fighting skills as back-up.
And there was that woman again. Emma. Even miles away, Betsy couldn’t stop thinking about the blonde. After the mental battles, hurtful words, and all around incompatibility, one would expect Betsy to walk away. Nope, here she was, in the middle of throwing hits at Wolverine, obsessing over Emma again. This fixation wasn’t healthy. It just wasn’t right.
They’d been through a traumatic event together. They got to know each other real well. Joy to the world, now move on with life. Betsy couldn’t though. Everything about Emma sucked her in and wouldn’t let go--the inner strength, the protective streak, the loyalty, the attitude, the gorgeous lips, and that full, curvaceous body...
Oh hell, this wasn’t happening.
She stopped mid-block to examine her previous, enticing, erotic image. Since when did she think of Emma Frost’s ass in that way?
POW!
Betsy actually stayed on her feet for two seconds, then she wobbled for about two more before falling over like a Christmas tree the day after New Years. As she sprawled out on the ground and watched the cherry blossoms descend, Logan walked into view.
“Y’ok, Betts?”
“Ikana veal phuni.”
The splattering of incoherent words concerned him. “Wha?”
Betsy swallowed and waited for the pain in her head to subside. “I kinda feel funny,” she slowly repeated.
“Need a trip to the medlab?”
“No, I’m good.”
When she made no move to get up, he sat down and produced another cigar. Just as he was about to light it, Betsy mumbled, “Could you not smoke right now?”
“There a problem?”
“I want to get you some better cigars. These stink.”
“But I’ve always smoked these.”
“They stink.”
“Never heard you complain before.”
“Didn’t know stink from not stink. Emma knows some good ones.”
A twinkle of understanding crossed his face. “Had your mind on Frost, didn’t ya?”
“No.”
Logan left his gaze on her.
“Maybe.”
More looking, this time accompanied by a squint.
“Most likely.”
He did that thing with his upper lip, showing enough teeth to be menacing.
“Yes! I was thinking about Emma!”
“No shame in it,” he laughed, the intimidation gone. “Smelled her all over you when you came into Harry’s.”
“It’s not what you thi-”
“But you want it to be.”
Her brain hadn’t gone so far out there yet, but based on current projections, yes, that would’ve been the most probable destination. “How did you know?”
He tapped his nose with his unlit cigar. “Smelled something before I cold-clocked ya. Didn’t put it together till you mentioned Frosty.”
“What did you smell?”
“Arousal.”
Like getting punched by his metal fist all over again. “You say it so casually.”
“When you’ve been around as long as I have, nothin’ surprises you anymore. So what if you got the hots for Frost? Don’t make you no different in my eyes. Hell, I’ve caught myself starin’ at her too, so I can sympathize.”
“It’s not like that, Logan.”
“’Course it’s not, Betts. That’s why you’re down in the Danger Room smashin’ up drones and beatin’ me to a pulp.” He considered that roll of tobacco for a moment before tucking it into his pocket. “Face it, girl, you’ve got it bad.”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Oh, I think she does. Stuff like that don’t escape Frost’s notice. With all the time you’ve been spending together, she’d have to pull a Bobby Drake not catch a hint.”
“She hasn’t showed any kind of-”
A mural of the past days came together and headed off her protests.
Gracefully, Emma touched Betsy’s cheek. She considered the woman beautiful, inside and out, and Emma hated spoiling beauty...
... See Emma search self for answers. See Emma find some answers. See Emma want to share those answers. See Emma puzzled over Betsy’s defensiveness. See Emma get flash of precognition. Finally, see Emma confront Betsy for what’s believed to be her own good...
... the women’s hands touched, and not just touched, more like wove together in a tapestry of fingers....
Emma almost--just almost--purred in delight. *If you don’t stop now I might come.*
*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...
*Just like I suspected,* Betsy said, stepping away and folding her arms. *I was wondering why I couldn’t get a good read on you. Your attitude is why this exercise of yours won’t work. You’re sealed up like Fort Knox...
... like Fort Knox... something she didn’t want to let out... some things I’m not ready to face... don’t stop now I might come... confront Betsy for what’s believed to be her own good... considered the woman beautiful, inside and out...
“Betts,” said Logan, prodding her, “You were a million miles away.”
Something she didn’t want to let out...
Was that why she kept her mental distance? Made sense. Emma didn’t let people in. She didn’t have a choice this time, and maybe, just maybe, she liked it. If she hated it, she would’ve made her opinion known and did something drastic. Yeah, they had their fair share of arguments, but Emma never completely shut the door on their interaction. She talked about her annoyance, even got royally ticked, but outright refuse to help or permanently cut their rapport? Nope.
Slim chance Emma felt an attraction. Even slimmer chance she obsessed like Betsy did. Only by the slimmest of margins did Betsy stop herself from reaching out to Emma and scouring for the answer. With her company in trouble, Emma didn’t need more issues.
“Yo, Betts, are you sure you’re fine?”
“Yeah Logan, just... thinking.”
He chuckled to himself. “Yup. Got it bad.”
Couldn’t take much more of him speculating and getting right her emotional attachments. Somehow, it felt wrong on many levels, like talking about sex with your much older friend of the opposite sex (which in this case was the case) or, worse yet, your father.
A topic change was in order. “What about you, Logan? I wasn’t the only one in the Danger Room trashing drones and knocking people’s heads off.”
“Me? I’m done thinkin’.”
“About this new guy in the mansion?”
“No, ‘bout my cigars. You said Frost knows some better ones?”
She groaned at him. “I think I’m up for kicking your ass again.”
He stood and offered a helping hand to her. “Don’t get distracted, Betts.”
One kippup later, Betsy sprung to her feet without his assistance. She got a dangerous gleam in her eyes. “Want to up the ante?”
The challenge intrigued Logan. “What you have in mind?”
Demonic body. Demonic claws. Betsy remembered using them on Amanda, so...
Her fingers blackened and elongated slightly. Her fingernails bulked up and hooked. Before the surprise reached his brain, she had ten talons on her hands and a wicked smile on her face.
“Look what I got.”
Logan extended his own weapons and mirrored Betsy’s amusement. “Gonna be like taking down Sabertooth,” he grunted with a hint of anticipation.
“Only I’m less hairy and more attractive.”
“Don’t know about the less hairy part.”
False indignation colored her voice. “You’re gonna die, old man.”
“Now I’m not sure about the more attractive part neither.”
They both charged at each other, chopping, hacking, and slicing with abandon. To anyone else, they appeared to be mortal enemies; to them, they were just having fun. Betsy worked off her buried tension, going all out, non-stop, full-throttle-
An opening! Hoping to be the first to draw blood, she swiped at Logan’s exposed side. Of course she wouldn’t hurt him, just nick him a little bit to get the fight going in earnest. She forgot one detail though: Logan had his claws for decades, and the experience advantage in this kind of combat fell neatly into his lap.
What seemed like an opening was only a feint. Betsy noticed a millisecond late.
He stopped himself, even retracted his claws, but she moved too fast. Not only did he dodge her strike, he also raked across her stomach. His quick reaction prevented him from cutting her in half, but the all-too-familiar resistance of flesh against adamantium registered in his mind.
The cold metal entering her insides also registered in Betsy’s mind, and only through immense self-control did she block the sensation--and the subsequent flashback to Vargas--from assaulting Emma.
Emma. The first thing she thought of. She got skewered and she concerned herself with Emma who was miles away and probably couldn’t care less.
Yup. She had it bad.
“No flamin’ way. You’re not bleedin’.”
A bubbly sensation rumbled around Betsy’s wound. She touched the neatly cut flaps of her stomach to make sure, and there it was again, rumbling like she was starved. Odd how the pain stopped and foreboding set in. For the lack of a better description, Betsy felt like something was trying to fight its way out of her. Instinct made her hold back whatever spurred her on, but soon, it overwhelmed her.
An urge. Hunger. She looked up at her concerned companion. Meat. “Logan?”
“Ya look spooked, Betts.”
“Run.”
She barely got the order out before tendrils of inky darkness exploded from her wound. More joined in, this time erupting from her shadow. All of them darted at Logan who tried to fend them off, but for every extension he lopped away, four pushed forward from the base of the cut. Two got through his defenses and ripped a gaping hole across his midsection... exactly where Betsy herself sported wounds. They retracted backwards while others kept Logan occupied.
Bloody flesh met bloodless flesh. The tendrils wove Wolverine’s skin into her own, patching up the cut like expert surgeons. They even blended the new and old flesh together, returning the area to its previous, unwounded state. Only when they finished did Betsy gain control of her hitherto unknown appendages and force them back into whatever nether regions they spawned from.
Luckily Logan had his healing factor and razor sharp reflexes: except for the quickly closing gash on his stomach, he wasn’t hurt.
“What the hell was that, Betts?!”
Betsy blinked. “I need to call my brother.”
********************
- To be continued...
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