Chapter 54: Love is a Wonderful Thing
They understood each other. They were bonded to each other. They went to unimaginable lengths for each other. Yet, despite her power and their history, Emma couldn’t so much as peek into Betsy’s mind. Something about Belasco and his mystical garbage locked away Betsy’s consciousness like a prisoner. With enough time, Emma could break through. Problem was she didn’t have time. For that matter, Betsy wasn’t cooperating.
The blonde needed protection and time, two things in short supply.
Emma swung her fist and tried to knockout Betsy in one blow, but the woman met her punch with one of her own. Their fists crashed into each other with a jaw-shaking vibration. Bone broke through Betsy’s hand; the hairline fissures in Emma’s arm lengthened.
Betsy didn’t hit on the level of Lorna Dane but she came disturbingly close.
“Brian,” said Emma as she pushed Betsy away, “I need you to occupy her. My body can’t take more of this punishment and killing your sister is not an option.”
And Brian Braddock, who’d just dusted himself off after being creamed by one of Betsy’s deadly kicks, acquiesced. “I’ll give you all the time you-”
An unnatural tearing and the snapping of vertebrae stopped their exchange. “Esme,” gasped Emma.
Betsy seized her opponents’ momentary lapse, raked Brian across the back, and shoved his head into Emma. The two lost their balance and muddled straight into the waiting arms of some recently arrived demons. Luckily, being the one in front, Emma received the brunt of the demons’ wrath and shook off the hits; admittedly, her body garnered more cracks but Brian, despite his superhuman fortitude, couldn’t have possibly survived the initial flurry.
The time spent regathering his wits wasn’t in vain. A ball of light gathered in his opened palm; he thrust his hand out and a flash of brilliance penetrated the demonic ranks, dissolving them into ash.
Being the ruler of the Otherworld had its perks.
Emma left Brian to deal with the endless onslaught. Nothing could help Esme now, and besides, didn’t Emma make her choice already? The blonde turned back around and found Betsy on her haunches, ready to spring but cautious all the same.
Still nothing across their rapport--she needed an in to Betsy’s head and Belasco wasn’t big on providing it. Supposing she did penetrate the barriers, Emma also needed protection, protection from mutants, Belasco, and whatever other things that decided to kill her.
Couldn’t count on Brian anymore because he was amply occupied not ten feet behind her. Storm? Storm, now lost in the chaos, was somewhere battling Magneto. Doctor Strange, if he wasn’t dead, probably kept Belasco himself busy. The Professor was all talk and no action, which on top of being crippled and collared, made him his typically useless self.
“Elisabeth, can you hear me?”
Betsy hissed and manifested a crude, unfocused version of her psychic knife.
Psychic knife. Emma’s eyes widened: like last time with the Shadow King, the pure expression of mental energy could be used to cross into Betsy’s mind. The in she wanted popped up, and now, the protection remained as the only obstacle.
Betsy pounced, knife leading and body fully extended. Emma shrunk aside, the manifestation’s edge missing her by the width of a hair. A diamond crusted hand chopped into Betsy’s lower ribs. Not even acknowledging the strike, Betsy slashed at Emma again, this time black tendrils snaking out and holding the blonde in one place. The blonde managed to stop a successful hit by blocking the other woman’s forearm.
Before Emma could even try to wiggle herself loose from Betsy’s demonic grasp, something slammed into her back with such force that she made a deep, and most likely permanent, impression on the metal, elevator doors. Whatever ambushed her didn’t let go, preferring to pound her over and over into the ground. Under the taxing beating, her body gave up a bunch of audible cracks.
Suddenly, a boom obliterated whatever straddled her back, leaving behind bloody entrails and loose bits of skin. Emma got to her knees and watched slivers of herself fall, diamond powdered and broken like crystal or glass. Betsy seemed enraged at her continued well-being and charged... only to be met by a makeshift staff wielded by a Cajun.
“Look like you could use a break, chere.”
Emma wasn’t sure who he talked to, but for once, she was glad to see his scruffy face and hear his mind-boggling accent. “We need a few moments alone, Gambit. Can you cover Betsy and myself?”
“I owe dat woman, Frost. If you can bring her back, I’d fight Apocalypse for you.”
She nodded and rose to her full height, chips of diamond flaking off of her. Despite a gunshot wound to the stomach, a legion of enemies around him, and hope of survival dimming by the second, Remy glanced at the precious stones and held back his inner t’ief. “Mon dieu, you droppin’ a fortune, you know dat?”
“Your obvious concern for my health warms my heart.”
“Remy could buy a nice yacht wit de stuff on de ground.”
“I didn’t need to know that, Gambit.”
“A big yacht, like de ones on dat show ‘bout de rich n’ famous.’”
“Not now, LeBeau.”
“Maybe call it ‘La Belle’ or ‘La Petite-’”
Emma peeled a fragment off her side and shoved it in Remy’s pocket. “Less talking, more covering.”
“Sorry,” he grinned roguishly, “tryin’ to lighten t’ings up.”
“Stop trying and start doing.”
“Oui, madame.”
Charging up a full house, he threw his staff into the air. The stick twirled and nailed a demoness’ chin, dislocating it and jamming a fang through its nose. Five cards soared into the clumps of monsters and ruptured, the concussive blast belying the small, thin projectiles. Singed and screaming things spiraled into the depths below, their last sound a dull splat on an already death filled street.
Remy clutched his stomach as fresh blood leaked from the corners of the cauterized spots. The staff dropped back into his awaiting hand and he used it to hold himself up. Demons all over Brian shifted themselves to Remy: a new toy joined the tussle. Another fistful of cards lit up in a glow of pink.
“Come one, come all,” he called out, his red pupils gleaming like rubies, “Dere’s enough o’ Remy to go ‘round.”
And like that, only Emma and Betsy remained. Well, what was left of Betsy anyway.
Emma searched high and low for some signs of intelligence or emotion. She hoped there was something to fight for. She prayed, truly prayed and let out a quiet call to whatever deity controlling this world that Betsy could be saved. She searched, she hoped, and she prayed, but nothing came of her troubles.
Thunder rumbled in the sky and a bolt of lightning lit the battlefield for one spectacularly brief second. Emma saw the madness in Betsy’s eyes and the horrible changes Belasco put her body through. A tiny voice in the back of her head asked a question about what to do if she did get Betsy back; after all, the background still contained a bleak life or death struggle.
Emma told the tiny voice to shut the fuck up.
Then she rushed Betsy.
The inky extensions made another swipe at the blonde’s limbs and she obliged them: they wrapped around her and squeezed with an unholy strength. Emma snatched Betsy’s arm, the one with the psychic knife still humming away on, and plunged it into her own forehead.
Unlike the last time, Betsy struck with no precision. Whereas before Psylocke surgically razed Emma’s defenses, this attack had the subtly of a sledgehammer. This approach proved equally effective when Emma’s body locked up and her eyes almost wanted to turn to mush and ooze out their sockets. Ideas disentangled themselves and became senseless abstractions. Nerves overloaded, firing at a constant rate and turning every feeling into a numbed blankness.
Floating. She floated in her own mindscape detached from the physical world. Baseless and defenseless, her mind reverted her self-image back to a naked, shivering form highlighted by a single spotlight and surrounded by nothing. Having been here before, Emma willed herself to overcome the paralyzing assault. She ordered her mind to comply but it didn’t respond.
From the darkness emerged Betsy dressed in her traditional X-Men garb. She looked real here, untainted by the mystical spells and Otherworld qualities infused in her. A brew of sadness and loathing bubbled in her eyes and brought hope to Emma. The hope doubled when she spoke, her voice dripping with a human sorrow.
*Emma, why?*
Why? *Why what?*
*Why did you leave me to die? I cried out for you and you abandoned me.* Closer Betsy walked, a gaping chunk of her chest suddenly disappearing. *Cut out by Vargas,* she elaborated when Emma’s eyes widened. Bruises in the shapes of fingers grew around her neck. *Belasco almost snapped my neck like a pencil. I’m dead, Emma, and it’s all your fault. Where were you when I needed you? I thought you loved me...*
Mind caught up between disgust and fear, Emma hedged away and tried to buy time for herself to recover. So vulnerable, she said the first thing that came to her. *I’m sorry, Betsy, I really-*
Betsy seemed to teleport, first there, now here, nose to nose and toe to toe. *Kind of late for ‘I’m sorry,’ isn’t it? Oh, look at me, I’m sorry I left you to the vultures. Here, having a fucking cookie.*
An enormous pressure pressed against Emma’s temples. The woman’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and her hands clutched the painful areas. Felt like a vice cranked away at her brain, bursting blood vessels and mashing gray matter. As she dropped to her knees, Betsy snared a handful of her blonde hair and pulled it back so they saw each other.
*We’ve been here before. What did Amahl Farouk say?* She paused for dramatic effect and smirked. *I remember now! ‘Isn’t that wonderful, Emma? You’re going to be eaten to death. It’s an appropriate way for someone like you to go.’*
Another more violent tug forced Emma’s eyes further open. Specks of blood running down her nose splashed across everything like a wide brushstroke.
*Farouk’s not here anymore,* pouted Betsy, *but Master enjoys a few psychic snacks as much as the next all powerful sorcerer.* Wickedness took over her serene features. *For our blossoming love’s sake, I’ll let you eat me before He finishes you off.*
A coarse, rough kiss consumed Emma. A tongue tried to find its way into her mouth but even now, weakened and hurt, she barred its entrance. *Elisabeth, fight him,* her disembodied voice implored, *You’ve seen his worst and it took more than that to break you.*
Breaking the kiss, Betsy’s clothes blinked out of existence. *There’s something you don’t get. Your Elisabeth can hear you but she can’t do anything about it. Both of you are at Master’s mercy and He can do anything He wants.*
To prove her point, she straightened up and forced Emma’s face into her crotch. And as anyone who ever forced the White Queen to do anything attested to, she always rebelled in her own way. This rebellion was easy, consisting of closing her mouth and pulling back with all her might.
Sometimes, she could be so predictable.
*That’s it Emma, fight your temptation like it matters. Try to be noble in your last moments because it’s all you have to repent for your pathetic excuse of a life.*
Getting no response, Betsy cast the blonde aside. Inside the dark background, a little something moved. The same spotlight which highlighted Emma now shined on Betsy. Silvery strands of string barely visible--invisible were it not for the light--glistened while they extended from every facet of Betsy’s soul. The little something in the darkness moved again as it fought to fully enter Emma’s mind.
The little something... what a misnomer. As Emma wiped her mouth clean, she noticed the little something was big: it only looked small because it was far off. The strings concerned her, and as the big something ventured closer, she got a better idea of what they did.
The big something had to be Belasco. What other pointy ear demon with orange hued skin existed anyway? His astral projection was huge, annoying, and unnecessary like his ego. Of course, the sorcerer pictured himself a puppeteer, playing his minions like well-tuned instruments. The strings extended from Betsy and into a large wooden cross, the cross held by none other than Belasco. He controlled Betsy like a marionette and used her mental avatar as nothing more than a mouthpiece.
Betsy? Captive. Belasco? Captor. Course of action? Destroy captor.
One question though. *How is Belasco here when he’s also outside?*
The strings jerked and Betsy laughed maniacally. *Magic,* she replied, the answer amusing the still emerging Belasco.
Fucking Belasco. Fucking magic. Fucking Betsy. If Emma wasn’t emotionally invested in the woman neither of them would ever be in this position. The fuming White Queen in her wanted to view this predicament as tit-for-tat repayment, or better yet, a way to keep Psylocke under her thumb should they get out of this alive. The White Queen never went the extra mile for anyone, especially when at cost to herself. The White Queen never put herself in a situation to lose.
The White Queen could shut up now.
Whatever she thought, whatever her protests, she couldn’t hide the empty spot in Emma’s head previously occupied by the bond to Betsy’s consciousness. It’d been nice having another soul to relate to, something neither White Queen nor Emma Grace Frost experienced. While they hadn’t broken the X-Men record for longest relationship, their closeness far outstripped the superficial attraction seen in most X-unions. Honestly, Hank wasn’t forthright with Trish Tilby, Alex knew (and now cared) little about Lorna’s life, and Warren, for all his suave moves and declarations of love, didn’t realize that Paige still looked at him like a hero.
As the girl’s former instructor, Emma caught such mannerisms.
Yes, yes, psychic integration helped Emma and Betsy’s cause. They hadn’t truly talked to each other until a handful of days ago, but in that time, they got to know each other better than parents knew their children, parents like Emma’s own parents, parents who were either drugged up or power-hungry, parents who didn’t spare their daughter a glance until she hit it big, parents who made her into the woman she hated, parents who didn’t deserve the title of parents.
Her barren mindscape erupted with activity, the lone spotlight widening to illuminated every inch of space. A sterile white canvassed her mind and enunciated Belasco’s monstrous features and Betsy’s nakedness. Broken pieces of her mind snapped back into form and her defenses returned, all unseen but all deadly. She refused to cloth herself in the White Queen’s curve hugging leathers, instead standing to face this intruder as her true self.
*This is it?* Belasco asked, unimpressed. *This is the mind of one of this realm’s most powerful telepaths? I’ve had apprentices with more inspiring abilities!*
*More inspiring? Yes,* she allowed. *More effective? I doubt it.*
The empty whiteness warped and hugged Belasco’s projection. Spikes, formed from the nothingness, lanced through him. The ground beneath him collapsed, dropping him into more of the same white surroundings. Psychic attacks came at him, origins unknown and results unpredictable.
*My mind. My rules.*
A tidal wave roared into Belasco and hammered him. Betsy’s body hung still while her puppeteer defended himself. Still, still like a corpse. Emma walked forward and stared into those lifeless eyes.
*You said you were in there,* the blonde whispered. *He couldn’t have killed you because nothing excites him more than agony. You have to come out, Elisabeth, or else everything I’ve put myself through will amount to nothing.*
No muscle moved. Ever the impatient woman, Emma slapped Betsy, desperation pushing her to become much more proactive. *Wake up, you imbecile! How dare you ignore me?! After all those accusations about leaving you to die, you do nothing when I slap the taste from your mouth? Answer me!*
A hollow smile and those same damnable, lifeless eyes answered Emma. The tiny voice she thought she squashed asked the million dollar question: What if Betsy was really dead? Emma felt nothing through their bond, Betsy wasn’t responding, and while Belasco was sadistic, he wasn’t stupid. What if he already made Betsy suffer enough and went through this just to get his shits and giggles off of another poor mutant?
What if she doomed herself by allowing Belasco into her mind?
Then Betsy’s eyes fluttered. *Too bad, so sad, game over. Master’s done playing and you’re going to die.*
The giant visage of Belasco shrugged off the globs of white pawing at him. He beat back the formless tidal wave, tearing it open to reveal the darkness which decorated Emma’s mindscape moments ago.
*You have my attention, mortal. I judged you too soon but that will not happen again.* A thin blaze of hellfire outlined his body and began burning away the parts of Emma fighting back. *I’ve lived for generations. I learned the mind’s craft before your forefathers were even thoughts in their forefather’s breeches. I’ve battled legendary mystics and won. A lowly mutant like yourself cannot hope to defeat me!*
Hellfire shot out of the ground. Pillars of the most blinding flames sprang up and seared away more of Emma. She backpedaled only to hear another column burst forth behind her. She rolled to the side but the hellfire kept coming, trailing her by a heartbeat. Eruptions shook her equilibrium and produced a splitting headache. The pain slowed her a hair, and that hair meant the difference between evading the next eruption or stepping right into it.
A glowing jet came to life under her feet. Where the White Queen once stood, now only hellfire remained.
The white nothing shattered into the insides of a volcano. Pulling Betsy up by her strings, Belasco gloated, the triumphant conqueror.
*The one you tried to protect beyond your brother is gone, Braddock child, but don’t worry: you will be there for his death too. Writhe, scream, curse, suffer--I see the pain in your soul and I am richer for it. So long as I control you, these things will come to you every eternal moment. I will break you to a point where no one can put you back together. Then, I will hang your spirit on my mantle like a trophy and watch the offspring of my dead nemesis, your father, gnash and slather like a wild beast.*
He turned her around and forced her to wave to the remains of Emma’s mind. *Say goodbye, Braddock child. Your lover is no more.*
While her outside beamed, Betsy’s inside writhed, screamed, cursed, and suffered. She didn’t want to say any of those hurtful, hateful things to Emma. She didn’t want to be Belasco’s tool to destroy this wonderful mind. She didn’t want to be a shell of herself, there to experience but never act. She didn’t want any of those things, but Belasco thought otherwise.
The worst part was not even getting to touch Emma one last time. Maybe, just maybe, if she touched that alabaster skin, she’d be able to channel her inner emotions and tell the woman how this thing looking like her wasn’t her. Maybe, but even the maybes died, ashes smoldering in this reproduction of Otherworld hell.
*I’ve wasted enough time in this place. There are heroes to bury and worlds to take over. It is time I left.*
Turning around, he disassociated his astral projection and reappeared.... reappeared here, exactly where he was, surrounded by the flaming remnants of Emma’s mind. Curious, he disassociated again and the result stayed the same: no movement, no Empire State Building, no image of his minions winning the fight over earth’s X-Men and their allies.
*What manner of sorcery is this?* Belasco grimaced. *Why can’t I leave this ruined mind?*
*Because I didn’t give you permission.*
Out of the flames stepped a figure resembling a female Human Torch. Every inch of her screamed heat but she retained her shape. More fires showered the area and consumed the untouched bits of white. As if hit by an earthquake, the entire place shook, reflecting the state of its mistress.
Emma repeated, *My mind. My rules.*
A long whip made of fire lashed at the giant’s knuckles. Belasco jerked away, and when he did, he left the strings attached to Betsy taut and exposed. The whip snapped again, and this time, the out of tune breaking of strings vibrated away like an old guitar giving up its ghost. Once held rigid but now freed, Betsy stumbled onto the blazing yet oddly soothing ground.
Crack went the whip as it slipped past Belasco’s arms and scored his cheek. Crack went the whip as it slapped his knee. Crack went whip as it felled him like a tree.
A palm reached out to Betsy. She couldn’t close the distance or communicate her thoughts, but at least she didn’t spurn the gesture under her tormentor’s watchful eye. She wanted to tell Emma to run while she still could because Belasco was too powerful, too crafty. She wanted to tell Emma to leave her behind, that she didn’t mind as long as said blonde telepath was safe.
Damn, she had it bad. Anchored in another’s mind, unable to defend herself, and at the mercy of one demonic magic user, she realized just how much she hurt not being able to be there for Emma. It all came back to Emma, didn’t it?
The palm cupped Betsy’s chin and tilted her head up.
Emma.
*I need you to defeat Belasco. We need to do what we did to the Shadow King again.*
Again? But what about all the trouble the act caused last time? What about the identity crisis and disjointed memories? What about their bond? She still didn’t feel anything much less their bond. Close proximity allowed the strongest sensations to flow through them. Too much, too fast--Emma sensed the distress in the unmoving woman.
To that, she only had one question. *Elisabeth, do you trust me?*
Of course Betsy trusted Emma... except on the topic of trusting Emma not to kill herself with her stubbornness. Nothing dissuaded that woman when she put her mind to something, and yes, Betsy gushed of gratefulness for the willingness to save her, but Emma needed to run and run fast. Didn’t she get it? Belasco was HERE in her mind and larger than life, the same Belasco who passed the time by making unsubjugated demons into his subjects!
Emma kissed her. *You fear him, I know. What he did to you I can’t change, but I can help you claim your revenge. How quickly you forget that you are my Elisabeth. No one, and I do mean no one, steals from me: some mendacious Otherworld boogie man isn’t going to get away because of who he is. I failed you once before but I will never again. So, do you trust me?*
The words about possession, responsibility, and trust dizzied Betsy. She didn’t quite know what to make of them because Emma was all over the place, her image exuding calm and cool but her actions and innermost thoughts a tumultuous storm.
Then Belasco jumped back into the scene and Betsy jumped with him. No, not jumped with him as in being under his control but jumped with him as in he jumped and she reacted. Limited usage of her mind meant good news, but the bad news was that she couldn’t do much except voice her much thought about urgings.
*Emma, you have to leave.*
A finger silenced her lips. *Don’t fear him. This is perhaps the only place where we can beat him. I will not squander this opportunity to silence the one that hurt you like he did. Answer me: do you trust me?*
What kind of question was that? *Of course I trust you but-*
*But nothing then. Join with me and we’ll sort out the questions later.*
A considerable and sinister looking sword materialized in Belasco’s hand. The test swings whistled through the columns of hellfire closing in on him and extinguished them like candles. Furious, his eyes glowed while he stomped toward the two women.
*Trust me,* said Emma, *Trust me and we can beat him.*
Betsy nodded and began converting herself into psychic energies to mingle with Emma. Belasco, quite adept at mental processes, didn’t like what he saw. He heaved the humongous sword over his head and hewed into Psylocke with the strength of Thor and all his Asgardian brethren combined. Gourds of molten flames rose up from either side of the sword’s impact and cased Emma’s mind into a momentary haze of chaos.
Here one second, gone the next--when everything returned to normal, Betsy wasn’t there anymore.
She was everywhere.
Dissolved into a cloudy, ephemeral mass, she stretched herself out and flowed into the niches of Emma. Elisabeth Braddock. Emma Frost. Elisabeth Frost. Emma Braddock. They swirled together into a potent package more powerful than two of world’s most skillful telepaths combined. A ribbon of light wrapped around Emma’s psychic form and clothed her into a white leather version of Betsy’s uniform.
Purple replaced platinum blonde. Steely blue eyes glinted with a predatory deadliness. Muscles toned themselves. The fires folded into a grassy valley flanked by snow capped mountains. Belasco’s sword lodged itself in the ground, and try as he might, he failed to wretch it loose.
Peace foreshadowed the impending violence.
The amalgam of Betsy and Emma raced up the edge of the stuck blade, up their enemy’s arm and right into his face. As she cocked her fist, a katana forged of pure psychic energies appeared in her readied hand. Thrust into the giant’s left eye and out fountained a wealth of power Belasco’s astral projection consolidated earlier.
Letting go, the wounded sorcerer swatted at his attacker, but she slipped over his shoulder and ran her weapon down the length of his back as she descended. Predictably, he fell, but he wasn’t useless. One of his hands flashed out and slapped the gloating woman straight into one of the mountains. So hard the hit that the katana phased out of existence and the woman herself left a full bodied imprint in the stone.
With a hand over his absent eye and his permanent scowl broaching hellish proportions, Belasco climbed upright and bared his teeth at the one who hurt him. *Another wonderful little trick, mortal, but it is time to do away with you forever!*
*You’ve said that before,* the voices of Betsy and Emma said as one, *We are still here and waiting for your worst.*
Clouds above burst into flames. The wail of countless souls broke into Emma’s consciousness and shook the serene valley to its core. Mountains split and crumbled; snow melted into flooding waves.
*If I cannot destroy your astral body, then I will destroy your mind.*
His foot stomped and from that point emanated a series of gaping fissures. Rocks tumbled into the cracks and never returned. Belasco extended a set of claws on of his hands and lumbered toward his dispassionate target.
Not that the overall destruction of her mindscape didn’t hurt, but Emma preferred keeping a poker face whenever possible. Buoyed by Betsy’s powers, she kept herself and them together, never revealing the pain or the concentration.
Concentration? Yes, well, not like they weren’t up to something.
The behemoth reached her, roared, and brought him claws down. Like a ninja, she jumped straight into the air and out of the way. From behind, Belasco’s sword came loose. Under Betsy and Emma’s command, it hovered a split second and then spun end over end as if the thrown by the pommel. Belasco had enough time to look up at the woman before the blade passed through him and buried itself in an untouched mountainside.
He gargled and twitched but his expression stayed the same. The shaking, destruction, fires, and pandemonium paused to take in what just happened. One half of Belasco fell forward while the other half tipped on its side. The body vaporized into energy, energy which Emma and Betsy drank like water.
And like that, the singular expression of them collapsed, each woman too exhausted to continue holding their selves together. Like last time, the image fuzzed out of focus and replaced it with their separate astral projections lying on the mutilated ground.
Emma glanced at Betsy. *I can feel you again.*
*The bond is back.*
Tiredly, the blonde brushed aside a few stray hairs. *I’d like to relax, but outside, there’s a new battle to fight.*
She prepared to rejoin the physical world only to be stopped by Betsy’s touch. *Thank you, Emma.*
*It’s not something you wouldn’t do for me.*
*You’re right, but that doesn’t make me any less thankful.*
*As you so righteously showed tonight. You’re welcome, Elisabeth, and you have my thanks as well.*
She resumed her departure but Betsy turned her around and melded their lips together. The thundering protests of her frazzled mind yielded to the warmth converging on the lower regions of her body. Betsy kissed her and kissed her with an unbridled passion that was not only overwhelming but also disconcerting in its strength.
The passion of battle, victory, and near-death smoldered between them, heightening their infantile attraction to each other. Though their love was young and immature, it had the strength of one well nurtured and long lived. For both women, release--never mind a true relationship--had been too long ago, perhaps even never ago. The magnetic pull and the unstoppable reactions tumbling through Emma scared her, yet she didn’t want this kiss to stop.
Half of Betsy’s fears came to fruition: the high of their struggles translated into a rabid love teetering on the edge of its demise. Burnout, most people called it; others labeled it as the heat of the moment. The rational side of Betsy yelled and stomped and flailed and shouted for her to slow down, but the other parts of Betsy glared at the dissenting little thing and knocked it unconscious. Analyzing a possibility was one thing, but living through the scenario was another.
The lure of everything Emma inebriated her. The plush lips and sinfully soft skin begged for attention. Passion? Betsy wore her passion here on her sleeve, on her mouth, on every inch of astral flesh complementing Emma’s curves. After another trip through Belasco’s hands, she needed to feel alive and loved: loving Emma, especially now, was too easy. Stop? No, she couldn’t stop. She knew this was the wrong time, the wrong place, and probably the wrong pace, but she couldn’t stop.
Need pulsed through their bond and Emma savored it. The raw emotions and unwavering desire made the blonde feel special and, for lack of a better term, fed her ego. Betsy held her like a life preserver, like an irreplaceable relic, like her own existence. Importance, devotion, and undiluted passion swayed Emma into a state of bliss, every avenue of herself satisfied at this particular moment.
She felt loved.
She felt needed.
She felt cherished.
She felt worshiped.
She felt understood.
What more could a girl ask for?
Then from nowhere and everywhere came *I love you.*
Whack. Emma lost her grip on her astral form and tunneled back into the physical world as if strapped to a homicidal roller coaster. Betsy lay atop of her, eyes closed and features still semi-demonic. Drenched in red, Gambit looked like the Kool-Aid man being assaulted by his many fans. Somewhere through the chaos was supposed to be everyone else but everyone else didn’t matter.
Emma’s breath caught. Three little words sent her scrambling. Of course the words existed and existed between them, but to hear them voiced gave them a new reality which the White Queen wasn’t used to. For better or for worse, Emma could accept being loved, but loving others she had a problem with. Loving someone meant giving part of herself away. Loving someone meant being there for them. Loving someone meant being committed.
I love you. Three little words made her relationship with Betsy real. No, being loved didn’t scare her. She’d used one-sided love many times, always reaping the rewards but never reciprocating. What did was her propensity to return that love. Unwittingly, Emma had done all the things a person would do for the one she loved.
She gave her secrets away, the ones about her family and her life outside of mutanthood. She hounded Betsy, hounded her until their issues were resolved and their selves were put back together. She committed herself, braving the Otherworld’s worst to make up for not being there for Betsy.
No, Emma didn’t fear Betsy’s affections: Emma feared her own strong response. To suddenly be in love and not realize it amounted to leaping before she looked or investing in a corporation without prior research. The “I love you” brought Emma back to earth and made her reevaluate what happened.
Conclusion? Emma was off-her-rocker in love, out-of-her-mind in love and she didn’t care. Now, if only the legions of demons would cooperate and leave both of them to sort out everything.
What the hell, not like she was going to be among the living for long, diamond body or no. As Betsy opened her muddled eyes, Emma whispered, “I love you too.”
******************
- To be continued...
Deviant Hearts Archive | Back to main index