Growing Pains
Part Four
"I don't like this."
Logan paces like a caged panther, smoking one of his foul cigars, forcing me to wrinkle my nose and try not to breathe too much every time he stalks past me, trailing clouds of billowing grey smoke. His enmity towards Cable has never been particularly well hidden – Logan enjoys wearing his heart on his sleeve, after all; his emotions are all that he can really trust – and it irks him that Rebecca's half-brother should be the one to help her regain her grip on the real world. Cable has done Logan some unspecified wrong in the past which he has been reluctant to talk about – most likely during Cable's mercenary days when Logan still worked for Department H – and it evidently still causes him irritation on some level. Still, that doesn't excuse his attitude in this situation. I turn to look at the squat little man, my blue eyes shining with the rising anger in my heart.
"Cable has been getting through to Rebecca, regardless of what you might think, Logan." I fold my arms across my breasts and rub the bridge of my nose with my fingers. "I've seen her smile more times in the past week than in the whole two months we've had her here. And surprising as it may seem, it's down to Nathan." Logan growls deep in his throat.
"Pardon me if I ain't convinced," he snorts. "Just havin' that jumped-up punk under this roof gets me riled –"
"No offence, Logan, but if Nathan annoys you so much, perhaps you ought to work out your frustrations with him, to his face, rather than with me. I just want my daughter to get well again. If that means accepting Nathan's help, then I'll accept that. I'd hope that you could too." Logan smiles roughly, his muttonchops bristling slightly as his face cracks into a grin. He nods, puffing on his cigar thoughtfully.
"Point taken, Betts," he says. "Talkin' ain't really my style, but I'll see what I can do." I smile.
"Talking isn't really Cable's style either, Logan, but I want to be the first person to actually get you to have a proper conversation – one that doesn't just consist of you two trying to score points off each other like a couple of little boys. Why is it so important for you to try and look tougher than each other, anyway?"
Logan laughs. "You're lucky I like you, Betts." He claps me on the shoulder, as if we are in a bar getting drunk off our faces. "We both know Cable lost that argument the last time he met Magneto, anyway." I raise an eyebrow at the little man.
"You don't give up, do you?"
"Part of my charm, darlin'."
"What little there is of it."
Logan's lined face creases into a grin. "Like I said, you're lucky I like you, Betts." He looks at his watch – an old Swiss Army model he has no memory of picking up. It's just one of a number of personal effects he cherishes without really knowing why. "I gotta go – Jubilee and I were gonna go see the Village while she's visitin' from the Massachusetts Academy. She's probably done pickin' out her favourite outfit and makin' herself look beautiful, so I'd better not keep her waitin'." He gives me a little salute. "See ya, Betts. Don't wait up." He pauses, tapping his hairy cheek as if remembering something very important. "And tell Wings he still owes me that case of brew from our card game last Friday night."
"I'm sure Warren hasn't forgotten, Logan. You did pin that rather rude note to our bedroom door, after all, and Warren likes his extremities too much to ignore it." Wolverine's smile widens.
"He knows I'm kiddin', darlin'," he says. "But I'll never let it slide if he doesn't come up with that beer before the end of the week. Not all of us have limitless amounts of greenbacks to throw around, ya know."
"Surprisingly, Logan, neither does Warren. But you'll get your beer, even if I have to squeeze it out of Warren myself." Logan chuckles wolfishly and leaves the observation booth in the medical bay, leaving me on my own, watching my daughter taking to her half-brother even more, as if her previous show of hostility to him had been simply a sham. He taught her Askani a week ago, and she has taken it upon herself to pepper her conversations with pithy, concise epithets from the books of Cable's religion. Her favourite one at the moment is "My mind is my only real weapon against those who would wrong me. My hands are simply an instrument of that weapon. If I fight with my mind, then my hands will win the battle for me, but if I fight with my hands alone, they will lose." She finds that it helps her focus for the day ahead, and so she repeats it like a mantra every morning. It gives her a reason for attending the training sessions Warren and I schedule for her every afternoon, and it helps her to make sense of what she is – and, for that matter, what she might become. I turn and leave the booth in order that I might talk with Rebecca – I'm curious as to what Nathan taught her today.
Cable nods towards me as I enter the medical bay, and Rebecca smiles at me, gets up off the bed she has used since she was put in here, and puts her arms around my waist, her hands touching my shoulder blades as she presses herself to me warmly. It's still surprising to have this happening to me; Rebecca had no real love for Warren or me at all when I first brought her here – in fact she hated us with a passion. Certain… circumstances… changed that. As a result of seeing her creator for what he truly was, I think Rebecca has come to realise who is truly her family now, and for that I'm grateful beyond words. It's been hard work convincing her to trust us – trust me – but I'm glad she's finally beginning to accept us. I kiss my daughter on the forehead and hold her close for a moment before she moves to sit down opposite Cable again.
"It's good to see you, Mum," Rebecca says, using the still-unfamiliar pet name instead of the sterile, almost impersonal word Mother she had used before. "I missed you."
That one, brief little sentence warms my heart. "I missed you too, sweetheart." I turn to look at Cable. "Nathan." Cable gives me one of his short smiles – his scarred face is not really suited for good humour – and touches his brow with two fingers.
"Betsy," he says in his rough, faintly haunted voice. The greeting is brisk, like all of Cable's conversation, but I appreciate the sentiment behind it. "Good to see you. Have a seat." He gestures at the spare metal chair in the corner of the room with his organic hand. "Rebecca and I were having a talk about what she wants to do once her ribs have healed. I think you need to hear what she has to say." Rebecca nods, and once I have brought the chair over to where Cable and Rebecca are sat, she sits forward in her own seat in order to take my hand.
"I told you I don't want to join the X-Men," she says, deliberately slowly, as if what she wants to say is like thick molasses in her throat. I'm not sure I'm going to like what she has to say, from the way her surface thoughts are roiling uncomfortably, but I stay calm anyway.
"Yes, sweetheart, you did," I say, keeping my voice at a reasonable volume. "Have you decided what it is that you do want to do, instead?" I look uneasily at Cable for a moment, an uncomfortable possibility having swum to the forefront of my own thoughts. "You don't… want to join X-Force, do you?" Rebecca smiles, shaking her head. I feel a tremendous weight lifting off my shoulders, and I exhale in relief, perhaps a little too overtly. Cable laughs.
"Thank you for the endorsement," he says, trying his best to look even grumpier than usual. "I'd have taken good care of her, Betsy, you know that."
"That's just it, Cable – I don't." I fold my arms. "I mean no offence, Nathan, but you do so many things that we can't keep track of. I don't want my only daughter disappearing in front of my face, only to reappear months later on the other side of the world. I don't think I could handle that." Rebecca looks uncomfortable for a moment or two, scratching the nape of her neck nervously.
"That's sort of what Nathan and I were talking about," she says hesitantly. "I want… to go travelling. By myself." Something lights a very short fuse in my head, but I feel that I can restrain the explosion of indignation building in my brain for just a few seconds more. Take a deep breath, Betsy…
"I… see," I say, trying my best to sound and to look and to feel calm. "Where exactly were you thinking of travelling to?" Rebecca swallows and looks at Cable for a second, as if for reassurance. He nods at her, giving her some measure of confidence. Still, it takes her a while to get her voice up to an audible level again.
"Asia," she says, finally. And that's when the fuse runs out.
"What?" I say, incredulously. "I'm sorry, Rebecca, but I can't let you go across the Atlantic by yourself –"
"I knew this would happen," she says, angrily. "I'm not a baby, Mum! I can take care of myself!"
"Really?" I fold my arms across my chest. "Do you know anything about Asia other than its geography, Rebecca? Do you know what kind of dangers there are over there?" Rebecca begins to say something, but I don't let her speak, instead continuing as if she hasn't acted at all. "No, I don't think you do. I think you'd be completely lost if you were to find yourself in the centre of Phnom Penh or Hanoi, and I don't want that to happen to you, Rebecca. I want you to be safe."
Rebecca rolls her eyes. "Don't be stupid, Mum! I can buy a map, and I can learn the languages. I'm not a complete idiot!"
"I'm not just talking about a damn map, Rebecca! You'd be in the middle of foreign cultures you know next to nothing about, and there are people in those countries that prey on girls who travel by themselves. Don't you watch the news?" Rebecca laughs, sharply.
"Have you forgotten what I can do, Mum?" Her red eyes gleam for a moment, a little wisp of energy escaping from each of their irises. "I think I'm more than capable of defending myself, don't you? Or don't you remember what happened when we first met?"
That was low, Rebecca. She knows I could never forget that day. It's a soft spot she exploits whenever she wants to get the upper hand in an argument, no matter how much she loves me now. At those times her skill at picking people apart mentally is applied without mercy, as if it is an instinctive defence mechanism.
I sigh, and run my hand through my blonde hair. "No, Rebecca, I haven't forgotten," I say, slowly. "But you have no way of knowing what kind of people there are in the countries you want to visit. Just because we haven't found many Alpha-class mutants there, that doesn't mean there aren't any, nor does it mean it's not brimming over with people who can take advantage of you. Like the Mandarin, for instance." I sigh. "Sweetheart, I don't want to ruin your ambitions, but I just want you to be certain that this is what you want to do, and that you know the risks. You're a mutant, and you're a very young woman on top of that. That means there will always be somebody just around the corner waiting to take advantage of you." I pause, and a dark scowl falls across my face. "Or to hurt you." Cable has excused himself quietly, sensing that this is not something he wants to get involved in, and Rebecca and myself are alone, which gives me a little more confidence – without Cable to lean on, Rebecca might just back down a little. "I'm sorry, button, but –"
"Don't call me that," she says flatly, glaring at me. "I'm not a kid – I never was. So don't treat me like one." I hold my hands up, admitting my mistake.
"I'm sorry, Rebecca." I tilt my head slightly, scratching the nape of my neck uncomfortably. "I shouldn't have called you that. But you're not exactly an adult, either, are you?" I fold my hands in my lap. "And let's be realistic, Rebecca – are you doing this because you want to see the world, or because you want to get away from me and my lifestyle?"
"No!" she blurts, without specifying which option she was negating. "No. I don't want to leave you behind. I just want to see somewhere other than here. I was born here, Mum – I was born here and all I've really seen is the lab where I was hatched, the inside of this mansion, and a few ruined buildings in Hoboken. When I was on the road on Logan's bike, I felt really free for the first time in my life. I want to see what else the world has to offer, Mum!" Ah. That makes things a little easier for me to understand. It's not some teenage desire just to get away from her parents without giving a damn where that desire might lead her, because she wants to leave us. She just has a case of wanderlust, that's all. Relief floods my body at the realisation of that.
"Well," I say, folding my hands around the uppermost knee of my crossed legs, "perhaps you should consider somewhere a little closer to home? We could visit your great-grandparents in Anchorage, if you like; Scott and Jean have told them a lot about you, and I know they'd love to meet their new great-granddaughter. Or I could take you to Braddock Manor, if you wanted." I smile. "I'm sure Tom would like to meet you too." Rebecca frowns.
"Tom?"
"My gardener," I explain briefly. "He and my chauffeur Frederick are two of my oldest friends, and I'd love for them to see my daughter in the flesh. What do you say?" That takes her aback just a little. I think she's surprised that my anger at her wanting to leave has changed so quickly into an invitation to travel, although she must surely know that I am suggesting Braddock Manor and Anchorage because, quite simply, they're safe, and I know what's going on there.
"Will you let me think about that for a while, Mum?" Rebecca asks, sitting down on her bed and picking up her book – a dog-eared copy of A Tale of Two Cities that Hank brought to her, but only after I had lambasted him for giving her the magazine – her face creasing in pain slightly as her ribs give her a little momentary trouble. They're still a little bruised, and it hurts her to breathe occasionally. I reach forwards, instinctively, and she waves me away. "I'm okay, Mum, really," she says, her face still lined with the dull ache I can sense running through her chest. "Just let me think for a little bit." I nod, and get up to leave. Before I get to the door, Rebecca says "Come back soon?"
That makes me smile. "You can count on it, button," I say, ignoring the dirty look and surge of indignant emotions she sends to me. It spatters off my mind like water against my eyelashes, and it makes me laugh.
I hate you, she says telepathically. I smile, and laugh again.
I love you too, Rebecca.
At the top of the lift shaft, I meet Warren, who, I suppose, was on his way down to see Rebecca for her afternoon training session, given that he is dressed only in his blue and white Angel costume, his beautiful snow-white wings exposed for all the world to see. I'd completely forgotten the schedule we had organised for today.
How odd.
My usually impeccable sense of timing has been thrown completely out of whack by my daughter's ambitions. I suppose this is something that Jean and Scott are familiar with, but it still knocks me for a loop. I'm so used to doing everything just so, and it's all been thrown totally out of synch. Warren notices my disorientation, and concern flashes across the surface of his mind. "You okay?"
"Mmm?" My mind is wrenched back from wherever it had been residing just enough to answer him (in a manner of speaking, anyway), and he smiles at me engagingly.
"What's the matter?" he says. "You look spooked."
"You could say that," I tell him. "Rebecca told me that she wants to leave the mansion." That knocks the humour out of Warren's voice almost immediately.
"What, leave, as in for good?" He is just as incredulous as I was, I think, which is a definite credit to him. "Where does she want to go?"
"She just… wanted to visit Asia," I say softly. "I managed to talk her out of that, though. I offered her the chance to go to Braddock Manor, or to see Scott's grandparents in Anchorage, but…" My voice trails off for a moment while I collect myself. "Warren, I don't… I can't stand the thought of not knowing where she is. I didn't realise quite how much that idea frightened me until now." To my eternal surprise, Warren smiles.
"I know how you feel, Betts. I asked Scott about this myself, and he told me that was exactly the way he feels about Nathan and Rachel," he says, his eyes sparkling. "He said it was how his dad felt about him, and how his grandparents feel about him today." He draws me close and kisses me on the forehead. "I think it's all a part of being a parent, babe. Don't worry about it." I sigh.
"That's just it, Warren, I can't help worrying about it. I thought I could cope with Rebecca leaving the mansion – how do you think it makes me feel to know that I can't?"
"Like a mom. It makes you feel like a mom," Warren says softly, touching my chin and shifting it up slightly, so that he can look at my face. "Am I right?" That makes me smile, and I take his hand in mine, closing my eyes. I brush my cheek with it, feeling the fine, soft hairs tickling my skin.
"Yes," I say, simply, after a pause. "Yes, you are." It amazes me how perceptive he can be, sometimes.
"First time for everything," he says, with a self-deprecating laugh. "Look, Betts, you're a great mother. Anybody who lives here can see that, whenever you're with Rebecca. You wouldn't feel the way you do if you didn't care so much about her – I can promise you that."
"Do you want to come with me and talk to Rebecca about this?" I venture. "I think she'd appreciate having her dad there, don't you?" Warren nods.
"I guess so," he says. "You want I should get changed?" He gestures at his figure-hugging costume with one gloved hand. "Not exactly ideal for talking, is it?" He smiles bashfully. "Give me five minutes. I'll throw something together."
"You've never managed to 'throw something together' in only five minutes, Warren; you take longer over your appearance than I do." Warren taps me on the nose, as if to reprimand me for slighting him.
"Then I'll have to make an exception, won't I?" He kisses me quickly, and walks briskly off to our room.
Fretting makes me pace. Fretting about important things makes me sweat and pace. I can feel my palms getting almost unbearably slick with moisture as I almost wear a trench in the floor inside our bedroom. Warren has finished stripping off his costume and has found a shirt – a red short-sleeved polo shirt I bought for him for his last birthday – and is just now in the process of picking out some trousers. His hand hovers over first one pair, then another, almost out of habit. I tap my foot impatiently, and then, without thinking, I push past him, grab the first thing that comes to hand and thrust it into his hands.
"For heaven's sake, Warren, would you just get dressed?" Warren thinks about protesting for a moment, but then he sees my face, and decides against it.
"Sure," he says, quietly. "Sure. Give me a second." He pulls the black jeans on and ties the laces of his expensive Gucci shoes without looking, instead keeping his eyes fixed on me. "I don't want to sound callous, Betts, but –"
I shake my head. "It's all right, Warren. You could never do that. Never."
He pauses, uncertainly, and then says "Betts, this has been hard for me too. Rebecca's not exactly a normal kid, is she? I wanted to see my kids growing up, taking their first steps, saying their first word. That kind of stuff." He pauses to smile wryly. "Dumb, huh?"
"No, Warren. Not at all."
Warren rubs his eyes. "Then you can see how this whole situation has thrown my life right off-course like it has yours, can't you? I have a daughter I never saw do any of those things. I never even changed a diaper, for God's sake! I feel like a dirty cheat for not paying my dues as a parent, and it hurts me, Betsy. It hurts me right here." He places a hand over his heart, tapping it twice, slowly. "I love Rebecca, and I want to be a good dad, but this whole situation will take a while for me to get over, I think. It's hard, you know?"
I nod, one corner of my mouth raised in an understanding smile. "I know. And I'm sorry, Warren; I shouldn't have gone off at you like that. It wasn't right."
"Don't worry about it." Warren waves his hand dismissively. "This has been hard on the both of us. Better we blow off steam at each other than at her, right?"
"I suppose so. Speaking of which, I promised Rebecca I wouldn't be gone long. She'll be wondering where I am." I pause, realisation crossing my face for a second. "I'll fetch Scott. I should have done it earlier." A curse escapes my lips. "I am such an idiot!"
"No, you're not, Betts – you're just preoccupied." Warren shrugs. "Scott won't mind. As long as he's there he won't give a damn about you almost forgetting to tell him."
"I suppose so. Give me a moment, will you?" I close my eyes. Scott, would you come down to the med-leb, please?
Why, Betsy? Has something happened to Rebecca? Worry sounds in Scott's telepathic voice like a bell.
No, Scott, she's fine. I just need you here with us while Warren and I talk to Rebecca. She wants to leave the mansion for a little while, and we were going to talk about where it is she's going to go, if she decides on going after all. We thought you deserved to know what's going on. There is a slight pause on the other end of the link, and then Scott lets his agreement filter through freely.
Thank you, Betsy, he replies. I'll be there as soon as I can.
Scott appears in two minutes, perhaps less, dressed in a plain blue shirt and some white slacks. His ruby-quartz glasses sit perched on the bridge of his nose, and he adjusts them slightly as he approaches us at the entrance to the lift. "Betsy – Warren," he says, nodding to each of us in turn, clasping me in an embrace and giving his old friend a firm handshake with his free hand. It's become a bit of a tradition between the three of us – we are all technically family now, as well as comrades-in-arms. "Good to see you, you two." He grins warmly – an expression of good humour that is oddly muted by the fact that I can't see his eyes, despite the fact that I can feel his emotions. I suppose what they say about the eyes being windows to the soul must have some truth in it after all. Scott's expression hardens slightly, and he folds his arms across his chest, breathing deeply before continuing. "Is this something to do with my son?" he asks. "Nathan's told me how much he and Rebecca get on. Someone like him could probably influence a girl of Rebecca's age. I'll talk to him, see if I can get him to change her mind –" I shake my head, cutting him off with a wave of my hand.
"No, Scott – you don't understand. It wasn't Nathan's idea. It was hers. She wanted to do this for herself, because she was tired of not being able to see the world. Nathan might have encouraged her, but it was her idea. If you want to talk to Nathan about helping to change her mind, please do, but you ought to know that he won't do anything about it. She made her own mind up about this." Scott's face fills with realisation, and he looks a little sheepish for a second or two before regaining his characteristic composure.
"I… see," he says in a low voice. "You didn't tell me where she wanted to go. Anywhere in particular?"
Just then the lift doors hiss open and reveal the elevator platform in all its gleaming metallic glory, and I step inside quickly, the almost-sterile air inside the lift compartment tickling my nostrils. Warren follows, tucking his wings through the small doorway deftly, and rolls his eyes. "Come on, Scotty – I'll tell you on the way down."
Rebecca is sat on her bed, engrossed in her book, when the three of us arrive. Hank almost had conniptions when we turned up en masse, but eventually agreed to let us go in as a group. I think he knows that Rebecca is strong enough by now to handle multiple visitors, which is why he only almost threw a fit. Had he felt any other way, we'd have been ejected more quickly than we'd come in. My daughter looks up and sees us, and her face lights up.
"Mum," she says, waving. "Dads." She smiles mischievously. That's one of her favourite little jokes she likes to play on the three of us, and it does raise a little smile on my lips, too, no matter how many time I hear it.
"Hi, Rebecca." Scott threads his way through the clutter of the ward and reaches Rebecca's bed, where he embraces his daughter. "Good to see you again." He kisses her on the forehead, and it reminds me again of how tender a man Scott can be. It's a far cry from the focused, driven leader of the X-Men I first met, and I love seeing him this way. It reminds me that he is a wonderful father, as well as a good friend. He strokes her hair, tucking a stray strand of it behind her left ear. "How are you?"
"Oh, you know – same old same old," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. She puts a leather bookmark into her book and sets it down onto her bedside table as Warren reaches her, alongside me. Easing herself off the bed, she stands and hugs Warren, Scott and myself in turn, just briefly. Her face takes on a more serious look – almost too old for her years – and she sits back down on her bed. "I guess Mum told you both what I said to her, did she?" Both Scott and Warren nod slowly. Rebecca smiles a little smile and raises her eyebrows. "I thought she might have. I still want to go overseas, though. Maybe not to Asia, but definitely somewhere other than this country." She pauses again. "You can see why I want to go, can't you, Dad?" She looks pleadingly towards Warren, who shrugs noncommittally.
"I guess so, Rebecca, but I have to side with your mom on this one. It's probably better for you if you don't go so far when you're this age. Hell, I wasn't even allowed to go to the movies when I was your age!" He winces visibly as she threatens to stare a hole in him (which in her case, she could actually do very easily). Biting his lip, he continues "Look, Rebecca, your mom's right. You're too young and way too inexperienced for that kind of trip." Desperately, he looks to Scott for some back-up, and Scott raises his eyebrows, scratching the bridge of his nose with a fingertip.
"How would you like to go to Anchorage?" he says, keeping his voice calm. "My grandparents want to meet you a whole lot, Rebecca – they don't have much family left apart from my dad, and my brother and me. Meeting you would be a dream come true for them." He smiles. "What do you say?" Rebecca twists one side of her mouth up and wrinkles her nose in a way that suggests she has already considered this option.
"Mum suggested it to me earlier, Scott," she says. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… your family is a little too daunting for me at the moment. Maybe in a little while, when I've had time to adjust. Tell them I'm sorry."
To my surprise, Scott smiles. "I understand," he replies, raising his eyebrows. "And don't worry – they'll understand, too. They got used to that when my dad turned up in a 'flying saucer'. Grandpa almost had a heart attack when I told him Nathan was my son, though. And I gave up trying to explain the whole thing to him after he fell asleep during my explanation of the Mother Askani." He shrugs, smiling wryly. "You take your time, Rebecca. I'll let them know when you decide to meet them."
"Thanks," Rebecca says simply. "I'll get around to it soon, I promise."
"Well, where else would you like to go?" Scott asks, folding his hands and resting his elbows on his knees as he sits forward in the metal chair next to Rebecca's bed. She tilts her head and scratches behind her ear.
"I kind of had my heart set on visiting Hong Kong, actually," she says, flipping her loose blonde ponytail behind her back, "but I guess that's out of the question now, huh?"
"Not totally, darling. Just until you at least look a little older." I realise just how stupid that sounds, but Rebecca is only physically about halfway to adulthood, even though her mind is practically fully developed. She's like someone with the knowledge of a twenty-five-year-old in a seventeen-year-old's body, and sometimes I have to remind myself of that – uncomfortable, and strange, as it may be. "Until then, where would you like to visit? Maybe Warren or I can take you there?" Rebecca sighs.
"Well, Braddock Manor did sound nice," she admits, "but I don't think I'd like the weather much." She grins, amused at my involuntary grimace. "How about Las Vegas?"
I cough involuntarily, stunned. "Absolutely not. You'd probably come home broke and tattooed, flashing a tongue stud at me." Rebecca raises an eyebrow.
"It was a joke," she says, flatly. She rolls her eyes. "I could care less about Las Vegas, Mum. I just wanted to get a rise out of you."
"Well, you succeeded. Are you pleased with yourself?" She smiles.
"Very." A flash of inspiration crosses her face. "What about France?"
That sounds more like it. "I think that's a great idea, Rebecca," I say, truthfully. "Paris is lovely in the summer. You'll love it – there's nothing better than seeing the world from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Just don't drink too much Beaujolais, all right?"
Rebecca sticks her tongue out at me. "All right, Mum – you win. I won't have any fun."
"Don't be rude," I say. "I'm just speaking from experience. Red wine hangovers are not fun at all."
Rebecca laughs. "You've had a red wine hangover? Seriously? You?"
Warren nods, a little twinkle in his eye. "I've seen it, Rebecca. It's not pretty."
You are a dead man, Mr Worthington. He spots the half-serious glare I'm giving him, and pretends to be frightened. "Funny as it may sound, Rebecca, I'm a human being too. I'm just as entitled to get drunk as you are." I pause. "I just don't do it very often. I'm not really what you'd call a happy drunk, you see; I have a tendency to curse the world, Mojo, Slaymaster, the Mandarin, Kuragari, and any random passers-by for ruining my life, and it does rather tend to kill the party mood." I smile. "And since you have me and Scott for genetic donors, I'd watch yourself, my dear. Especially since there's likely to be a parade of unscrupulous men trying to seduce you." Rebecca snorts with laughter.
"Now you're really being paranoid, Mum," she says. "With these eyes I couldn't get anybody but Nightcrawler or Wonder Man to ask me out."
"You'd be surprised how tolerant they are in France, darling. Anybody with two X-chromosomes is fair game. I was approached constantly by odd little men who reeked of cheap cologne and tried out worse pick-up lines than Gambit, even after I'd been given the mark of the Crimson Dawn. Which means I'd advise you to be on your guard."
Rebecca stifles a giggle. "Worse pick-up lines than Gambit? Wow."
"Oh yes. They told me my eyes were like the stars, my mark like the sun, my hair like spun satin, and my bosom… attractive." I can feel a flush coming to my cheeks at that. The people in question used considerably more… colourful… language. I consider myself a woman of the world, and even I was embarrassed at how forthright they were. "Of course they were mostly drunk at the time, so they made very little sense. But that doesn't mean you ought not to be on your guard if you're alone in a crowded bar late at night."
"All right, Mum – you win." Rebecca sounds a little exasperated at my rather overzealous doting (now there's a word I never expected to associate with myself. I think I'm becoming more of a mother hen than Jean). "Do you want me to carry a can of Mace in my handbag too?"
"That might actually make me a little feel better, Rebecca," I tell her honestly. "A collar or a power-dampener could really get you in trouble, button – take it from somebody who knows."
Rebecca's hand strays to her throat unconsciously. Her thoughts show that she still has unpleasant memories of the locking collar we had to attach to a visor we borrowed from Scott when she first arrived here. To have to endure something like that again (which took away her powers, to boot) is something that she is obviously extremely scared of. "Point taken," she says hoarsely, rubbing her neck with her fingertips.
"Good," I say, reaching out to clasp her hand in mine. "I'm sorry to be so very blunt, my love, but I'm only doing it because I want you to be safe."
"I know," she says.
Scott steps forwards, a flash of inspiration coming into his mind. "Rebecca… if you're going to be crossing the Atlantic, Jean and I have got some packing cases that might be useful to you. They're not that big, but they'll do, I think. Unless you're like Jean and want to pack half your wardrobe for a two-week holiday." He shrugs. "I'll bring them down for you if you want –" Rebecca shakes her head.
"No. I'll come and look at them myself, if and when Hank decides to let me out of here. If ever." She smiles wryly. "I think he thinks I'll collapse and die if he isn't watching my every move."
Warren groans. "Sounds like Hank, all right. The man's so clingy, it's a wonder he ever lets anybody out of the infirmary at all. Sounds like you're in for a long stay, Rebecca."
"Well… why don't we prove him wrong?" Scott says, a surprisingly mischievous look crossing his face. "I'll go talk to Hank and see if I can convince him to let you go. He can still check up on you if he needs to while you're there."
There is an interval of about five minutes as he goes through the door of the ward to the lab area where Hank is working, and then a very vocal "What?" Hank comes storming into the ward with a determined expression on his fur-covered features, and stops a few paces away from me. "There is no way that your daughter is going to leave this infirmary, Mrs Worthington. I won't have you risking her health just for the sake of some creature comforts!" Scott comes after as quickly as he can, grabbing onto one Hank's muscular arms.
"Wait a minute, Hank," he begins, "I wouldn't ask it if I wasn't certain – you know that. Rebecca looks fine to me –" Hank stops him cold with a wave of his paw.
"Looks can be deceiving, Scotty," he says. "Her broken ribs are nearly healed, yes, but I'm still not sure she's fit enough to be moved yet –" Rebecca silences him in turn as she somersaults off her bed and executes a perfect landing, her body automatically assuming a crouched position for a moment before she stands up and taps Hank on the nose with a long, elegant finger.
"Boo," she says, with a twinkle in her eye. Hank raises an eyebrow.
"And here I thought Jubilee was the resident show-off adorned with an X belt-buckle," he mutters, and sighs. "Very well, Rebecca, you may return to your own room. But I want full check-ups every week so that I can be sure you are fully fit."
Rebecca smiles. "Whatever you like, Hank. I just want to get out of here as soon as possible: I'd like to be reminded of what the sun feels like." She gives him a little hug and nuzzles his furry neck. "But thank you anyway – I really like the book you gave me."
"Um… no problem, Rebecca." It's always funny to see Hank lost for words, and this display of affection on Rebecca's part has this same effect. "It was my pleasure. I have more books, should you decide you want to follow up on the works of Dickens." Rebecca's grateful smile widens, and her red eyes gleam with anticipation.
"Thank you, Hank – I might just do that."
The sun is bright, with streams of yellow light filtering in through the drapes, as the four of us find Rebecca's room and help her to get settled back in. Warren opens the curtains and lets in even more sunlight, its clean clarity making everything in the room a little more distinct. Rebecca sits down on her bed and stretches languorously. "That's better," she says contentedly. "That's much better." She looks over at Scott and gestures expansively. "Thanks, Scott – it was really nice of you to do all this for me."
"Not a problem," he says, shrugging. "You looked so bored and tired I thought you needed a break."
"Well, perhaps we ought to leave her be?" I suggest. "I'm sure you need to get some rest, now, Rebecca, so if you want us to leave –"
"No. Stay," she says, simply. "I want you to talk to me, Mum. I want you to tell me everything that you know about England… you and Dad and Scott." I sigh.
"This could take a while, Rebecca."
"I have time. So do you."
"She's right, you know." Warren licks his fingertip and makes a vertical line in thin air. "The home team scores!" He winks at his daughter, who beams back at him gleefully.
"Thanks, Dad." She high-fives him with a little whoop of triumph. "So come on, Mum – tell me all you have to spare."
"All right, Rebecca. Get comfortable." I fold my hands into my lap and sit down next to her. "This could take a while…"
FIN.
