Growing Pains
Part One
I watch Rebecca as she puts herself through her paces in one of the Danger Room's more exhaustive exercise programmes – a series of individual and group combats with some of the X-Men's more aggressive foes. She moves with an almost unnatural grace, like a cat. Every move she makes is calculated to bring her the most reward possible. She swings her fist round in a tight arc, connecting it quickly with the temple of a holographic Pyro, crushing the facsimile of bone there as if it were paper. Flipping and twisting her body around his jets of flame as they spray wildly out of control, she comes to her feet with steam rising off her body, as the sweat beading at her temples and elsewhere evaporates in the chill, sterile air of the Danger Room. She pirouettes out of the way of a charging Juggernaut like a dancer, the hulking monster crashing into the simulacrum of Apocalypse behind her, shattering the circuitry of both the robotic doppelgangers into broken shards, and causing their bodies to crumple into concertinas of screeching metal. It's bizarre to see so many of our most deadly enemies gathered together in one place – and even more bizarre to see them being bested single-handedly by my daughter. I remind myself that they are only imitations – but I also find myself wondering how Rebecca would fare against the real thing. That's a mother's pride, I think, and a little smile plays over my lips, just for a moment.
"How's she doing?" Warren asks as he enters the control booth through the door behind me. I smile at him and point at the dials and readouts indicating Rebecca's pulse rate, respiration, and so on. After kissing him hello and intertwining my palm with his, I wave my free hand at the viewing window to indicate what Rebecca is doing.
"See for yourself," I tell him, handing him one of the sheets I had had printed out for me by the booth's computers. "She's not even breathing hard. I don't think I've seen her hesitate once."
Warren grins. "You think we should have fed her to Logan instead?" I give him a dirty look that lets him know exactly what I think of that particular idea.
"Bite your tongue," I tell him. "We'll do no such thing. I don't think it would be fair on either of them. Although the way Rebecca's junking those training drones, Logan would probably be a less expensive opponent for her." Warren laughs, and smoothes out some creases in his sharp suit.
"You know," he says matter-of-factly, "I have my costume on underneath my clothes. Maybe I could give Rebecca some tutoring on her combat techniques?" That gives me cause to stop short for a moment, and I look at him with raised eyebrows, surprised.
"You?" I repeat, a little taken aback. "No offence, darling, but I think Rebecca has all the knowledge of fighting that she needs at the moment. And besides that, I never really thought of you as the teaching type – I always thought you'd always just left it up to Charles to be the one imparting knowledge." Warren shrugs and enfolds me in his arms, a small smile crossing his lips.
"There's a first time for everything, Mrs Worthington," he says, "and if I could beat Iron Man when I was just a teenager, then I can teach my daughter something, at least, wouldn't you say?"
"Perhaps," I begin, smiling wickedly, "but Iron Man's a lot more powerful now than he was when you managed to get the upper hand on him, remember? I suspect the outcome might be a lot different if you took him on today, darling." Warren tries his best to look wounded, and to inject a suitable amount of hurt into his voice.
"I don't believe this – my own wife, undermining my confidence!" He laughs. "Maybe I should call up Stark Solutions and have them send the old rustbucket over so we can test your theory?" I shrug, and give him a little peck on the cheek.
"Whatever you like, sweetheart. Whatever you like." Disengaging myself from his embrace, I move over to the microphone set into the console in front of the viewing window. "That's enough for today, Rebecca," I tell her. "Take a shower, get some fresh clothes, and we can all eat some dinner together, all right?" Rebecca scowls at me as the training droids lose their holographic skins, and the room's elaborate scenery fades into the uniform grey panelling that is the Danger Room's usual decoration.
"Wow. If looks could kill…" Warren begins, shaking his head.
"You're forgetting, Warren – hers can," I say, flatly, all traces of levity suddenly leeched from my voice. "I'm still not getting through to her, Warren – even after all this time, and all I've said to her, she still resents being here." I sigh and run my hands through my hair. "I don't know what I'm going to do." Warren cocks his head and touches my cheek gently, his eyes filling with concern.
"Hey, now," he says softly. "We'll find a way, I promise. Remember that she's just a kid – she's doing what kids her age are supposed to do. She'll get over it. Until then, you and I will just have to keep showing her that we care. That's all we can ever do. It's up to her when she decides to see that."
"I know that, Warren, but… I just… I just feel so damned frustrated sometimes. Rebecca wants to go back to Essex – she's told me so herself – and I keep seeing that happening no matter what I do. I'm afraid I'm going to fail her, somehow. I don't want to lose her, Warren! Not to him." Warren visibly flinches at that. I can sense that he feels my anger and rage through our rapport, and it stings him as much as it does me.
X-Men to the War Room, immediately.
Charles Xavier's voice echoes in my head suddenly, making me curse. Never let it be said that our illustrious leader doesn't pick his spots with the utmost care. He always finds a way to inject himself into our personal lives at the most inopportune moments, although whether it's on purpose or not I'm never sure.
What is it, Professor? I ask, telepathically. Warren begins to open his mouth to speak but I hold up my hand for silence. Listening to telepathic communication is hard enough without external sound. With it, it becomes damnably difficult.
Elisabeth… thank you for responding, but I would prefer it if you were not to come on this mission. It involves the Marauders, and I'm not sure I want to put you in that kind of position at this point in time.
That brings me up short, like a kick in the gut from a hobnailed boot. The Marauders? Where are they?
Hoboken, New Jersey, the Professor's kindly, educated tone replies. They are attempting to sabotage a scientific facility there. From the readings I'm getting with Cerebro, I suspect that a clone of your daughter is being used to take point. Her power signature is quite unique – or at least it was. I want you to stay here with Rebecca – I don't want her to be left unattended. Is that clear?
Crystal, I tell him. But what about Warren? What about Scott? Don't you think you ought to at least consult both of them over this?
The Professor pauses. I can clearly sense the hesitation in his thoughts. Very well, Elisabeth. His voice falls silent in my mind for a moment, and I can see the expression changing on Warren's face almost instantaneously. A look of horror and shock falls across it for a second, but then he takes a deep breath and composes himself, swallowing sharply.
"Betsy –" he begins.
"I'll find her," I say, before he can get any further.
Rebecca is drying her hair with a towel and dressing herself in a plain white blouse and jeans when I knock at her bedroom door before entering. She looks up and her face twists blackly. "Why aren't you gone?" she asks bluntly, and then smiles coldly at my puzzled expression. "I heard Xavier's voice in my head, too, you know. It's not like he makes any differentiation between who's an X-Man and who isn't when he does that." She gestures airily. "I would have thought you'd be with the rest of them by now so you could go play superhero dress-up with the Buckethead Lehnsherr, or whoever else you people feel self-righteous enough to pound on." I sit down in the chair that is adjacent to the writing desk in the corner of her room without waiting for her to offer me a seat, and fold my hands in my lap.
"I would be, normally," I say, trying to keep my voice even, "but the Professor asked Warren and me to stay behind to help him keep an eye on you." That causes her to throw her head back and laugh loudly.
"Oh, that's rich," she says, a lock of her long blonde hair falling down over her pretty face as she returns her gaze to me. "What, did he not trust me to behave myself without a babysitter?"
"Partly," I tell her. "And partly because you don't deserve to have to stay here by yourself. The Professor felt that you deserved some company at this point in time, and I agreed with him."
"So you decided you wanted to be the one who got to hold my leash again, did you?" Rebecca snorts. "How noble." She pauses for a moment, and tilts her head inquisitively. "Where's your boyfriend – the flyboy? Haven't you got him trained yet?"
"Warren's here," I tell her, "but he's downstairs, shutting down the Danger Room's systems. He'll be up in a second or two, and we can have the lunch I was talking about earlier."
"I'm not hungry," Rebecca says petulantly.
"Don't lie to me, Rebecca," I reply, tiredly, rolling my eyes as I do so. "Even if I weren't a telepath, I'd still be able to see that you're lying to me. At least try and get some practice in trying to hide your emotions. It's insulting to think you don't hold me high enough in your esteem that you don't even bother doing that. My God, Rebecca! Even Cable can lie convincingly, and he spent most of his youth sticking an oversized gun in people's faces and pulling the trigger!"
Rebecca smiles sourly. "Oh yes, my almighty big brother – the paragon of virtue." The sarcasm in her voice is caustic. "Now he can even teach me how to lie properly, can he? I suppose you're going to tell me that Nate Grey is a great example of how to use your mutant powers next, right?"
"Don't get smart with me, young lady," I say, immediately cursing myself for slipping into such condescending motherly tones. "I'm just trying to make the point that if you're going to be one of the human race, you're going to have to learn to do as the rest of us do. Humans –even mutated ones – lie, cheat and steal. It's not a nice fact of life, but it's a fact of life nonetheless. Truth is often uncomfortable, and lies can be helpful sometimes. It's human nature." The particular relevance of my words is not something that I enjoy feeling. Rebecca's partially-suppressed mutant powers haven't let her detect my own "little white lie" about the actual whys and wherefores of my staying behind, thanks to the psychic "circuit-breakers" installed by the Professor, and for that I'm grateful. I have a very good idea of how she might react if she were to find out the real reason for my staying behind.
The door opens abruptly, and Warren enters, closing it behind him. "Hey, firecracker," he says, causing Rebecca to scowl darkly. "Firecracker" is Warren's semi-affectionate pet name for her (since Jubilee is still in Massachusetts, he decided it was fair game), which he uses in the hope that she might soften a little.
It hasn't worked yet, unfortunately.
"No word from the others yet," he says. "Charles says he hasn't received any telepathic communication from Jean either, so he's not worried right now. He did say that we ought to be on alert to be a possible rescue party, though." That brings a tired smile to my face.
"Just us against the world, eh, Warren?"
Rebecca rolls her eyes. "Oh, Christ… I think I'm going to puke. You two are worse than One-Eye and his redhead. Wipe the drool already."
Warren jabs a finger at her, suddenly angry. I can sense the strain in his voice – the worry – and it's affecting him deeply. "Mind your mouth, young lady," he says, his voice edged with an authoritative tone I've not heard very often from him.
Rebecca smiles nastily, her red eyes flickering with triumph. "Or what? You'll throw pretty feathers at me? I'm quaking." She's baiting him – and doing it very well for somebody so young, for that matter. She enjoys the sensation of having power over us by virtue of her being a blood relation to me, and to Warren's best friend. It's not much better than before, when she was insulting us and screaming instead of talking, but I have to keep telling myself that it's a start nonetheless. She'll never be Cyclops or myself, but I can see a human being under there. I'll find it, if I have to die trying. Unfortunately, that's looking increasingly like my only viable option.
"Damn it, Rebecca!" Warren's voice cracks with fury and exasperation – and, strangely, I find myself unsurprised. In fact I find myself wondering why it didn't happen sooner. "I don't have time to listen to you badmouth me and my wife while my best friend is out there risking his neck against those animals –" He manages to cut himself off – and just in time, at that. I don't like having to keep information from Rebecca, despite her cutting and abrasive mannerisms, but it's a necessary evil to make things easier – for all of us – while she's here.
Rebecca lifts an eyebrow in disbelief almost lazily, and her next words are spoken in a much more inquisitive, less stinging tone. "'Animals'? That's a little strong coming from you, flyboy. What did they do to you?" A look of realisation crosses her face as some pivotal piece of information falls into place inside her mind. "It's the Marauders, isn't it?" Her face twists suddenly, into an angry parody of its former self. "Where are they?"
It's at this point that I feel half-pleased that my assessment – of what Rebecca would do once the secret of who the team was tackling was revealed – was correct, and half-horrified at what she might possibly do now that she knows. "Where are they?" she says, her voice suddenly sounding colder than liquid nitrogen. I shake my head, refusing to be intimidated.
"No, Rebecca. You're not going anywhere – Sinister already has your replacement hatched and working with the rest of the Marauders. You're obsolete to him – less than that, actually. He'd kill you as soon as he set eyes on you. To him, you're nothing but a failed experiment. That new clone is his baby now." Rebecca's red eyes flicker with her refusal to accept my words, and she shakes her head to put an exclamation point to that.
"No," she says. "No. I don't believe you." She begins to move towards the door, and I step in front of her, blocking her path.
"You're not going anywhere, Rebecca. The Professor asked us to keep you here and that's exactly what Warren and I are going to do." Rebecca twists her lips into a snarl, and she closes her eyes, her face warping with pain and twin trickles of thick, bright blood oozing from her nostrils. With a gasp of effort, she manages to extend a ruby-red psychic knife from her hand. It burns brightly even in the strong sunlight that streams in through the room's windows, and I can feel the strain that has been put upon her mind as if it is my own. My movements sluggish, Rebecca moves in as if she is going to strike me with the crackling knife, but at the last moment, she swerves aside and drives it right into the centre of Warren's head, shorting out his nervous system. The feedback scurries back along our link and almost knocks me off my feet. Instinctively, I stagger over to where Warren is lying, his legs tangled beneath him and his fingers flexing and unflexing involuntarily. He is frothing at the mouth and his eyes have rolled up into his head so far that his irises are completely out of view. He thrashes at my touch, every neurone in his brain firing simultaneously. It's a nightmare in vivid, slashing colours for me as I feel its residual effects through our link – and it's infinitely worse for him, I can tell. The effects of my own knife or psi-bolt usually fade after a while if I've used it to stun someone, but I've no way of knowing how long Rebecca's version of it will keep him like this. I'm going to have to enter his mind and help him overcome it from the inside out. Holding his jerking head between my hands, I speak softly to him with my mind, coaxing his body to stop its erratic motion and return the man that I love to me. Listen to me, Warren, I tell him. Listen to me. There is a door in your mind that can help you come back to me, and I'm going to help you walk through it. Warren's only response is a pain-wracked gurgle, and I begin to worry if perhaps he might swallow his tongue – or worse, bite through it – and I realise that time is most definitely of the essence. Shh, my darling. Shh. Let it go. Don't fight me. I can feel him trying to help me, but his body is unwilling or unable to comply. I cut through the storm of static that his mind has become – a blizzard of razor blades ready to slice my psychic skin to ribbons – and find the key to his motor neurones. One by one I shut them down, reducing his thrashing and enabling me to get a better grip on his body. When I return to my own skull, Warren's head is lying in my lap, his eyes pointing towards the ceiling.
"Betsy?" he slurs, one side of his mouth sluggish and unresponsive, making his words run together and warping his pronunciation slightly. I smile, feeling the wetness of relieved tears hit my cheek, and stroke his sweat-dampened forelocks gently.
"I'm here, Warren," I say, softly. "Don't ever scare me like that again."
"What… about Rebecca?" he pants, a look of concern crossing his face – even with the right side of it unable to move. I bite my lip and gesture towards the door that is still swinging on its hinges.
"She's… gone."
