Uncanny X-Men 1943

Chapter 26

It was the first time Betsy has left their flat since returning home a week ago. She had spent the best part of the first few days in bed, with Warren in the spare room at Hank McCoy's orders to keep them quarantined from one another until the good doctor could be sure that neither had caught anything contagious. In theory, it was a good idea, but in practice Betsy and Warren had been very bad at obeying doctor's orders when given a few moments in the house alone.

The past couple of days of enforced bedrest had been harder. Betsy's strength had returned after a number of comparative banquets three times a day. Monty really worked wonders with their ration allowance. A few nights of twelve hours of sleep, a very long daily bath, Hank tending to her physical injuries, Warren for additional physical needs, and Ororo to talk to about the emotional stresses, had allowed Elizabeth to begin her official debrief to record the facts of what occurred.

When she'd left, Warren had been happily propped up in bed (now back in their own bedroom) with the wireless on, the morning papers, and a hot cup of tea to keep him company. He was still procrastinating on beginning his report, and Elizabeth didn't blame him.

Betsy had navigated public transport to make her way from Mayfair to the Summers's south London home. The trees were bare, but the streets still covered with leaves. She admired her reflection in the windows of the other houses, thinking how smart she looked in her well-cut coat, polished boots (rather than shoes, to hide the fact that her badly blistered feet and ankles were still bandaged), and jauntily-set hat. It had felt nice to get up and dressed, made-up, and to do her hair with purpose.

Elizabeth knocked at the door, and got no response, as expected. She smiled to herself and dropped her psi-barriers.

//It's only me. Someone needs to check you're not dead. I drew the short straw.//

Betsy picked a piece of lint off her coat while she waited. A moment later the door opened. Emma looked her up and down. "You recovered well."

"You look terrible," Elizabeth said, looking at Emma.

Emma's hair was unbrushed, she was terribly pale, and she was wearing a dressing-gown over a jumper that Betsy guessed belonged to Scott, over her nightgown. "Just a little bit of hypothermia, a bout of pneumonia, and a multi-day migraine after forcing my way through anti-telepathy barriers, but it'll take more than a bit of a cough and a fever to kill me."

"I - I can come back. If you need to rest, or..."

Emma rolled her eyes. "No, you're here now. According to darling Doctor McCoy, I'm not infectious and apparently on the mend."

Elizabeth stepped inside and removed her hat, coat and gloves as Emma closed the door and lead the way into the drawing room. "I just boiled the kettle if you want to get a drink," she said, collapsing onto the armchair closest to the fireplace. "You'll have to make it yourself though."

"I - no, thank-you. I'm fine," Betsy said, looking around. The house was spotlessly clean, tastefully but uniquely decorated, and unmistakably the home of the extended Summers clan. She'd visited before, but always for a dinner, and had assumed the house had been cleaned up for the event.

"You have met Scott," Emma said, reading Betsy's surface thoughts. "Yes, it's always like this. Well, mostly, anyhow. Miss Lee assisted in the finding of a place in Kensington to store Rogue, Remy and Kurt while I can think of something better to do with them. I should be able to get Kurt refugee status, Remy's French paperwork checks out, so he can stay for now, but Rogue's a bit of an issue. Technically she's American, but has no paperwork for the US or France. She's not even sure what surname she used when she first travelled to France. Oh well, that little conundrum will keep Miss Lee out of trouble until I'm back in the office."