Uncanny X-Men 1943

Chapter 25

Betsy could still see the gardens dappled in sunlight as she and Brian ran and played amongst the trees. The grass and leaves were so vivid and green, with multitudes of flowers throughout the grounds, from wildflower meadows to the perfectly cultivated beds. The gardeners would often shoo her and Brian out of the flowerbeds, away from the kitchen garden, especially when the strawberries were fruiting, out of the fountains and ponds, and off the good lawns.

If they weren't running away from a grumpy gardener, then they were running off from their nannies. Soft grass underneath their sandals, sun hats tied on firmly by some nervous nursemaid, unbuttoned cardigans flapping behind them like like capes.

Though Betsy was the older of the twins, Brian was always taller, bigger, stronger, faster. But he couldn't hide from Betsy.

"That's cheating!" he'd call.

"No it's not, no it's not!" Betsy would laugh, as her magical glittery butterflies would lead her to wherever he hid. They would wrestle and laugh and go and find some new trouble to get into. The butterflies were instinctive, almost primal. As her telepathy and telekinesis had developed in her teenage years, Betsy concentrated more about on focus required to use these new, stronger powers, and less about the butterflies.

Betsy could smell the freshly cut grass, the roses and lavender, the fresh white loaves with strawberry jam, and lemonade waiting for them in the nursery. It was always sunny and pleasantly warm, without being too hot. There were ponies to ride, chickens to chase, dogs to play with, staff to pester.

"No dinner until you retrieve your things from the garden!" Nanny would say, sending Betsy and Brian back out to find their liberally discarded hats and cardigans and sandals and skipping ropes.

"Use your butterflies, Betsy!" Brian would say, "We'll find them quicker with the butterflies."

Elizabeth shivered, and Warren held her upright.

"As soon as Logan reappears, I'm taking Betsy down to the hold and changing her clothes. She'll catch her death like this," Warren said.

"No..." Betsy said, keeping her eyes closed, trying to stay in the garden. Anymore tricks?, she'd asked Emma, when all along it was Betsy holding the final card. It wasn't an issue of focus, for this to work she had to relax and let her instincts take over.

"Betsy, you're freezing, and - "

"Woah!" Jubilee exclaimed. "That is not me. My sparks aren't that colour, and they're definitely not butterfly-shaped."

"It's me," Elizabeth said softly. "Don't touch them. Just - just watch. They'll lead the way..."

Warren wrapped his arms tightly around Elizabeth, and they all watched the psi-butterflies float off the end of the boat. Some meters away they stopped and hovered. Elizabeth was vaguely aware of the commotion on board. Logan appeared from the hold, bundled up in warm, dry clothes, and lined up to help.

Commander Brand knelt down in front of Warren and Elizabeth. "Psylocke?" she said, taking Betsy's hands.

Elizabeth opened her eyed as she felt a warm sensation which began in her hands travel up her arms.

"Next time," Brand continued, "May I suggest trying that little stunt prior to having a meltdown. Come and change before the others need the space."

Betsy must have already been dreaming, because she could have sworn that the Commander's hands were glowing. She allowed Brand and Warren to help her to her feet and escort her below.

...

Scott sat on the narrow bed in the hold, Emma's head resting in his lap. She was bundled in blankets, but still felt bitterly cold. He absent-mindedly twirled strands of her damp hair. Warren and Elizabeth were cuddled together and covered with blankets and coats, asleep on the floor. Remy had fallen asleep on the small chair, his head resting on the desk-cum-table-cum-work bench.