ax_main | Betsy and Cal

Cal has a big favor to ask Betsy.

Cal had been more or less avoiding Betsy, since Yorkland. Less since the beginning of the year, since they had all been piled up into the boys' dorm, and now the girls'. The school was small enough that it was difficult to avoid anyone to start with, but the close quarters had made it downright impossible. So he wasn't truly avoiding her. They exchanged a few words now and then, had short conversations when they ran into each other. But it wasn't anything like the easy interactions they used to have.

And now, Cal had a big favor to ask her. It wasn't difficult to make sure she was alone in her room before he knocked on her door, accompanying the knock with a brush of his mind against hers, the psi equivalent of saying, It's Cal, without so much as thinking the words.

Betsy, lounging on her bed in the height of fashion (sweats and a ManU shirt), straightened a bit at the touch of a familiar psi signature brushing against her mind. Well, that was a surprise. He'd been scarce as a man could be in a school this small as of late, and she had endeavored to respect his desire not to see her.

It was awkward, but she'd endured worse with less reason.

Come in, she sent as she set down her copy of Vogue. It's unlocked.

Cal took a breath, then opened the door and walked into the room.

He didn't know how some girls managed to look so good in sweats, but somehow, Betsy did.

He gave her a small, awkward smile, rubbing at the back of his neck in a telltale sign of nervousness. "Hey, do you have a minute? I have a... favor to ask."

"That's foreboding," she teased him gently, hoping to take off at least a little of the edge of nerves. Betsy sat up, crossing her legs. "What's going on?"

Cal shifted his weight on his feet a little, then realized he was doing it and forced himself to go still. This was Betsy. She always got it. She was a little too good to be true that way, but hopefully she'd get why he was asking this, too, without him having to go into details. "Would you teach me how to use telepathy... in combat? I mean. Against another telepath?"

One slim eyebrow rose in question. "I...could," she said slowly, because she had the technical ability to, of course. Even had she not been naturally skilled in doing so, her STRIKE training alone could carry her through.

But his question only raised several new ones for her. "Why ask me? I mean, I'm flattered," kind of, "but I'm far from the only telepath."

"There's only two I trust," Cal answered, awkwardly. But he went on, painfully honest. "And I don't think the old guy could, or would, teach me what I need to know."

"Mmm, probably not," Betsy agreed. His much-vaunted telepathic ethics and all. "What are you hoping to learn to do?"

Not be caught with my pants down again. "I need to be able to hold my own," he answered. It was a vague answer, but he didn't know what he didn't know, and he couldn't exactly bring up Trent. Not directly, anyway. It wasn't his story to tell.

That got him another eyebrow raise, but Betsy didn't push. Pushing never worked with Cal. "Alright, then. When would you like to start?"

Fuck, Betsy was the fucking best. Relief and gratitude washed through Cal, and he let them play on his face. "Whenever works for you, really."

"I have some time now, if you like. But this sort of thing can be...draining," to put it lightly, especially in the beginning. "So if you wanted to start in a few days or a week, that is fine too."

She didn't want him walking into this unprepared, or worse yet with immediate plans. She'd emerged very shaken when she had first started her STRIKE training, and Cal was even more on edge than Betsy had been. She didn't want to send him to lunch with his friends still covered in a cold sweat and nearly shutting down.

"What's it gonna entail?" Cal asked, wanting to know more before he made up his mind either way. "This first... lesson?" Session? Whatever he should call it.

“Building stronger walls.” That was always the first step. When your passive psychic defenses were better, you could better afford to devote your attention to offense.

But, more importantly, “which means I will be in your head.” None of this would work otherwise. But Cal was very private about many things, and she would not presume that he would give such consent easily.

“I promise I won’t share your secrets, or if you want, I won’t even tell you what I know.” It might allow him the benefit of pretending it had never happened. “But if you want more time to consider...I would understand.”

"No, I wanna do this," Cal replied immediately, without a hint of a doubt. He hated the thought of anyone in his mind with a passion, but he... trusted Betsy, as much as he trusted anyone in this position. "But yeah, I'd rather we didn't talk about - whatever you find out," he confirmed, although he already knew that he would be doing his best to keep track. He just didn't want to have to talk about any of the shit in his mind, not unless he decided to. "Who... who taught you?"

That, Betsy supposed, was probably a more fraught question than Cal realized, given his own experience with shadowy organizations running mutant training programs.

But this process would not work without trust. They would both be exposing their minds to the other; better to be upfront now than to have him find out some other way. “I mentioned, before, that Wisdom and I were partners, teammates, yeah?”

She met his eyes. “We were spies, Cal. And the organization we worked for had a well-resourced psi division devoted to teaching me how to do exactly what you’re asking.” There it was, out in the open.

And Betsy braced herself for just how poorly this could go.

Cal felt his blood go cold, and then too warm. He focused on his breathing, and resisted the urge to shift. He was glad he'd left Abs with Lucky; she wouldn't have liked this. He licked his lips, flexed his hands, and made sure his shields weren't letting his emotions out. "There's a whole division?" he asked, had to ask, because that sounded like a lot of trained psis, and that was scary as fuck, and what if Trent was one of them?

“The psi division was not particularly large,” she said. “A dozen at most, but yes. There was a whole division. Mostly to monitor for threats, but some, like me, were field agents.”

Fuck, shit, fuck. A dozen psi agents. Cal swallowed. "Who runs them? Your organization."

Oh yeah. This was going superbly. About as smooth as a train jumping the tracks.

“Her Majesty’s government,” Betsy said. “Not all that dissimilar from your CIA or NSA.”

Cal wanted to run a hand back through his hair, but he wasn't sure it wouldn't tremble as he did it, so instead, he pressed his hands together. "You think other countries have those too?"

“I couldn’t say with certainty,” Betsy said, to put her answer in the proper context, “but I imagine so. England cannot be the only one to think of it.”

And Xavier knew about all this. Obviously he did. Shit. Cal focused on Betsy, the way her hair framed her face. The shape of her eyes, the line of her nose. When his gaze dropped to her lips, he looked to the side, and wiped a hand over his face. "Okay. Awesome. How long has it been in place? Your division. Is it all kids?"

The more knowledge, the better. A dozen psis trained in this. How many more were out there? Cal didn't know if he would rather they were older, for all that it would be pretty revealing of a lie in the way they all thought mutants had been emerging (that was, a few iterations here and there, and the lot of them being the first real wave), or they were all kids, with the issues that raised.

Betsy raised both eyebrows. “I can answer some of your questions, but you must understand there’s a limit. Besides, it’s gone now. My division.”

She was the only field psi left, but she left that painful truth unvoiced.

“Around my age, give or take a few years, but I was the youngest.”

Cal had so many questions, even now that he knew the division was gone, and he would keep asking them until he was out of them, or she stopped answering. He had a feeling which one would come first. "Did they shut it down?" Is that why you're here, but he kept that question behind his shields.

Her face did not betray any emotion, although the calm veneer was mask rather than fact. Her stomach twisted, as it always did, when she thought about the end. But that knowledge she kept locked away. “We were hunted down. Wisdom and I are what’s left.”

Cal's emotions might be locked away behind his shields, they still showed on his face, in his eyes. Confusion, sympathy, fear. "I'm sorry," he said, knowing full well how empty the words were, and he was stuck in place, unable to reach out and offer comfort. "Who...?"

She shook her head. “I didn’t know him. And I’m not inclined to visit whatever hole the agency threw him into to find out.”

A single person? Shit. He had to be powerful, but that was way less scary than some of things Cal had been imagining - if it was true. "You sure he was working on his own?" he had to ask. Not just for himself, but for Betsy. What if somebody else came for her?

She was silent for a moment, but then confessed, “No. The people he killed were skilled, talented agents. To get so many...I can’t imagine any one person who could.”

“Which is why, the Professor’s heartburn aside, I scan everyone I meet.”

Cal nodded. She'd mentioned that, back when they'd met. He'd had no idea it had been something this big, though. "Thank you. For telling me."

She shrugged, as though it had been nothing, even though they both knew that wasn’t the case. “If I’m going to be in your head, and have you in mine, better to not start off on a lie.”

"You could have chosen not to tell me," Cal replied uneasily. Of course he was going to have to be in her head too, but for some reason, he hadn't realized it until now.

His discomfort was apparent, even if she hadn’t been a telepath. “My walls are formidable,” Betsy said. No ego in the statement, merely a fact. “You likely will not breach them for awhile.

“Still. Some of my secrets will no doubt be revealed. Better to get ahead of it, I reckon.”

Cal looked even more uncomfortable then. "I've never - I never used the telepathy for that. To get into people's heads. Just to keep them out of mine." Find out where they were, and the very occasional psi blast. None of that was even close to getting inside someone's head, though. "Do I have to find out shit about you? Can't I just - get through your walls, and not look at what's on the other side?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Cal could hear how stupid they were. People's stuff leaked through to him the minute there was a fissure in his walls. Willingly cracking somebody else's walls? Of course he'd find shit out.

She looked sympathetic, even as she shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that,” Betsy said. “If it helps, I don’t have many dark secrets that I am keeping, and none on the surface level.”

"Yeah, I don't know that I can make that assurance," Cal replied, frowning as he looked down. He should follow her example. Tell her now, so she wouldn't stumble across terrible shit when she was inside his mind - well, not without knowing it was already there. But fuck if the thought of telling her, or having her potentially stumble across any number of things, didn't make him want to throw up.

“That’s okay,” Betsy assured him. She’d been in the minds of monsters while working for STRIKE. What Cal kept locked up tight might be traumatic, but he was no monster.

"No, it's not," Cal answered, immediately and instinctively, gaze snapping back to her. He let out a shaky breath. "Sorry. Just. There's stuff - stuff I really don't wanna talk about. But stuff I should probably tell you, too, before..." In case she changed her mind.

“Cal,” she said slowly. “I mean, if you want to tell me, I will always listen. But if you can’t....I’ve been in the minds of monsters and the minds of their victims. I am hard to shock, and I am not afraid.”

"I don't wanna tell you," Cal told her, evenly, but the evenness broke as he kept talking, his voice less steady, "but I can, and I should. Just let me do this."

She nodded, feeling the heavy weight of the moment, and sat quietly. He could speak in his own time, she was in no rush.

Cal appreciated the silence, that she was giving him space for this. He resisted the urge to pace, stood still, and tried to decide where to even fucking start. "A lot of the kids the Right had... they had it bad. Really bad. Beatings, and..." Worse. Cal took a breath. "I... didn't." Not after the first week. Not once Sandra had shown up. "I just went along with it. Whatever they wanted." Whatever she wanted. Anything not to be kept in isolation 24/7, at first, and it had become anything to make her happy, too. "I - wanted to be good for them." Tears were shining in his eyes, shame burning bright in his cheeks.

"I think I..." Fuck, that truth he didn't like to contemplate, even on his own, and his lungs were too small for his breath, and laced with pain, but he had to say it. Just manage to breathe and say it. Don't look at Betsy, don't think about Sandra, just say it. "I think I might have killed some other kids for them."

Betsy was quiet for a long moment, processing, but her face betrayed no judgment. Instead she just looked thoughtful. Finally, she offered, “Cal, your situation was...unique in many respects, and I won’t lie and say it wasn’t. But I’d also point out you would hardly be the first captive victim to fall prey to Stockholm Syndrome. Patty Hearst? Elizabeth Smart?

“I understand if you feel guilty, for what you did. Or what you may have done. But...you were a victim, Cal. Not a monster.”

Cal wanted, so badly, to walk away from this conversation. She said all the right things, the same things the Professor did, the same things Sampson did. And they were the right things. It was what had happened to Caleb, too, and Cal would never hold what he had done for Trent against his friend. But it didn't feel that way, when it came to his own shit. He was older than Caleb. He should have known better. It wasn't only guilt that he felt, although there was a lot of that. It was also shame. Deep, dark, viscous shame.

That was what he wanted to walk, to run away from.

Instead, he forced himself to step over to Betsy's desk chair, turn it to face her, and take a seat. "I know," he said, succinctly. "But it doesn't feel like it." A warning, for her sake, because she might not be an empath, but emotions and thoughts were closely tied together, and she would feel some of it whenever she ended up in his mind.

She mulled that over, and nodded. With Kwannon, she’d done what she needed to do. She’d been desperate with no other option but to die. STRIKE had not held it against her, nor had Pete. Even Professor Telepathic Ethics had not judged her for that, even if he’d taken issue with some of her other actions.

It did not mean she did not occasionally feel a bit of a monster.

So rather than placate him, she simply said, “Thank you. Do you want to stop here for now? Or do you want to keep going?”

Cal hesitated. He wanted to start doing this already. He needed to be ready last week - pretty literally. But he should probably give himself some time. "Can we maybe meet tomorrow? If you have time?"

“I can make time for you tomorrow,” she assured him. Better not to rush anything.

Make time. Cal felt like an imposition now. And he was. Betsy had better things to do with her time than teach him that stuff. She was doing him a favor, and he shouldn't forget it. "Thank you," he said, his throat a little tight, and he wiped his palms on his jeans legs. "I... Thank you."

Betsy shrugged. “It’s no trouble. I’d be a pretty shite friend if I didn’t help a mate who needed help, wouldn’t I?”

Was that what they were? Friends? Cal was quiet for a beat, and then he nodded. "Thank you," he repeated, his tone a little quieter, but also less tight. He'd been a 'pretty shite friend' himself, avoiding her for so long. Part of him wanted to hug her, but he wasn't sure he wouldn't freak out. He stood awkwardly. "What time tomorrow?"

“3 o’clock?” She offered. She would be done with classes by then, at least, though admittedly she did not know Cal’s schedule well.

Cal nodded. "Here?"

Betsy sat quietly for a moment, thinking that over. Her room was the most private option, which given Cal’s personal history and the less-than-approved methods she would teach him might be better. On the other hand, the dorms did not have much by way of additional shielding, and in these early stages of training that could make a difference.

“If I can block out that time in the Danger Room, that might be better. It provides some additional shielding that might be....advisable. If that’s alright with you.”

Cal swallowed, making sure that the spike of anxiety remained firmly behind his shields. "I - you think it'll be free?" His heart was thudding hard, and he gave himself a mental kick. Be honest. The anxiety was rising. "I mean. I don't know if I can..." Finish that sentence, apparently. The cold that had washed over him slid into warmth, and sweat broke out over him. "I haven't..."

It was clear something was seriously wrong, and Betsy laid her arms on her folded legs, palms up, in a clearly non-threatening gesture. “Hey,” she said gently, “we can just do it here. Just you and me in here.”

Shit. Get a grip, Rankin. Cal breathed in and out a few times, going through one of Xavier's meditation patterns. When the clamminess receded, he raised his eyes to Betsy. "Sorry. Holo training room. They had some." He shifted where he was standing, then admitted, "I haven't been inside the Danger Room yet." He'd be happy if he never set foot inside, honestly. He was glad to avoid that entire sublevel as much as possible, really.

Betsy nodded, as pieces rapidly clicked into place. “Here, then,” she said. It would make his telepathic education a bit more difficult, for both of them, but it would not make it impossible. Better to expend the extra effort than to give Cal panic attacks every time they trained.

"Thank you," Cal breathed out, the gratitude shining in his eyes. For all that he kept everything tight behind his shields, the look in his eyes betrayed his emotions more often than not. "Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," Betsy said reassuringly. Her eyes were kind as they met his. "Comfort is everything."

Cal huffed out a laugh that failed at sounding amused, then gave her a wry half smile. "Yeah." He didn't think comfort was going to be a major player throughout all of this training. But he'd get through it. And maybe, now that they knew, if he could prove to Caleb that he was ready for it, his friend wouldn't leave him behind next time. Maybe he could actually help him take out that fucker. "Thanks," he repeated, then stepped back, towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

“Tomorrow,” she promised.

Cal nodded, bit back another 'thanks' that shone in his eyes anyway, and turned to go.