WARNING:
THERE WILL BE EXPLICIT SEX IN THIS STORY. I will mark those parts clearly in the header. The sex is graphic, but all loving and consensual (and not that much worse than a typical romance novel). If reading sex scenes like that would offend you, please don't read this.

If you want to comment, send email to luba@lubakmetyk.net

Part 1

"I don't understand why you're insisting on pursuing this, Betsy!" Braddock's ringing tone rolled around the manor's family sitting room, loudly enough to rattle the elaborate tea service set out on an elegant Pembroke table with cross-banded top and reeded legs. "You're pregnant -- you should be taking it *easy*, not stirring up another hornet's nest! Wasn't the court hearing last month traumatic enough?!"

"Brian, *please*..." Sitting next to him on a perfectly-preserved Regency rosewood sofa, Meggan kept a hand on her husband's arm, while her brilliant green eyes flickered worriedly back and forth between the two siblings. "Your yelling isn't helping Betsy's stress."

"No, it *isn't*, Bri, so shut up and try to *listen* this time," the beautiful Asian woman seated nearby in an elegant rosewood armchair snapped impatiently. "I *told* you why this is important. I *need* to be recognized as Elizabeth Braddock, *legally*, so you and Meggan will be *legally* recognized as Marianne's immediate family, in case anything happens to me." Automatically, she laid her own hand atop the swelling bulge of her abdomen, protectively, even as her thoughts turned inward, to touch a vague, fuzzy haze of warm contentment.

The enormous blond man had jumped to his feet and was pacing the spacious, gracefully-proportioned room, equally oblivious to the faded colors of the Oriental rug underfoot and the collection of miniatures by Richard Cosway, John Smart, George Engleheart and Joseph Saunders hanging on the wall.

Two pairs of eyes -- the emerald warm and concerned, the violet cool and calculating -- followed the massive figure on his prowl, both women holding their breath for an instant as the proverbial bull in a china shop almost bumped into a Chippendale and Haig cabinet, veneered on mahogany with West Indian satin-wood inlaid with neo-classical designs, which held a collection of fragile bonbonneries and scent bottles including dancing ladies, children, nymphs playing, and other delicate figurines.

Then, a minute later, just as both women had relaxed slightly again, Brian came to a halt standing next to the matching bow-fronted mahogany sideboard, and thumped his fist down on its expertly crafted inlay, causing several china mugs painted with notable political figures from the eighteenth century to jump and clatter alarmingly. "For God's sake, Betsy, you *can't* believe we'd need that to make us take care of your baby -- or of you! You're family! Do you really think I need a court order to recognize my own twin -- even if you *have* changed your whole body, not just the color of your hair?"

"Besides, nothing's going to happen to you," Meggan soothed, even as the empathic fay herself kept fiddling nervously with teapot, creamer, strainer, sugar bowl and tongs as she automatically echoed her husband's unease. "Moira said everything was fine just last week, didn't she?"

"Or is there something you're not telling us?" Brian walked over to peer down at his sister more closely, his concern evident. "Meg, can you pick up anything wrong? Do I need to call Moira? Or Logan? Or both of them?"

Pushing aside the mahogany-inlaid cherry Chippendale tea caddy immediately, his wife leaned over to lay her hands on Betsy's swelling belly, the physical gesture denoting and abetting her empathic probe within, while the subject of their joint coddling sighed impatiently. "Oh, relax, you two -- according to the good doctor everything is going fine!" Her voice softened a bit as she went on, "And of course I know you'll take care of Marianne. I'm not worried at all about *making* you do it, Bri, Meg -- I'm worried about making sure you'll be *let* do it. No matter what kinds of papers I fill out naming you guardians, that's not as bulletproof as if you were legally her family. And, *legally* you're not -- because *legally* I'm not Elizabeth Braddock!"

"But... but of course you are!" Sputtering, Meggan straightened up to stare back at her sister-in-law, wide-eyed. "We *know* you are!"

"Yes, but the courts wouldn't accept that! All the records from my days in STRIKE -- fingerprints, retinal scans -- say I'm *not* Elizabeth Braddock! Just as a DNA test would show I'm not related to Brian at all! Against all that, no court would accept your empathic senses as testimony to the contrary, Meggan, just as they wouldn't accept telepathic evidence from Jean or Emma -- assuming either of them was willing to 'come out' in public as a mutant telepath -- and they wouldn't accept Moira's medical testimony, even though she's a Nobel winner now, since so much of it would be based on secret Shi'ar technology -- *and* on your empathy, and the others' telepathy. And somehow I really doubt asking *Roma* to come in and testify about the Seige Perilous and what happened to me after I went through it would tilt the scales in my favour..."

Brian winced a bit, reminded of those days he'd thought his sister dead with the other X-Men supposedly lost in Dallas, but shook that off. They needed to concentrate on the present and the future now, not the past -- except for trying to learn from the lessons it had taught them, and not repeat the same mistakes yet again. He shook his head slowly, in reluctant agreement. "No, even if we could get telepathic testimony admitted in court, I agree we couldn't ask Emma or Jean -- or Xavier, or Cable or any other telepath we know -- to come out in public and admit to what they are. There might not be any real stigma attached to it over here, but they have to live in the anti-mutant hysteria in the states... If only Rachel were still here, still part of Excalibur -- a popular, well-respected, publically-recognized psi like her might have turned the trick..."

Meggan reached up to squeeze his hand. She knew he still felt guilty about their former teammate giving up everything to take his place adrift in the timestream. She did too, but her guilt was far outweighed by her gratitude to the stunning redhead for the sacrifice that had returned him to his proper time and place... and to Meggan's arms.

"But, if we *could* get telepathic testimony admitted in court... do you know of another telepath, over here... one of your old STRIKE colleagues, maybe?"

"No, Vixen's pet assassin Slaymaster did a pretty good job hunting them all down and killing them, one by one..." Betsy's voice trailed away, as she remembered her fiance, Tom Lennox, had been among them... and how her own battle with Slaymaster some time later had cost her her eyes. It had been years, and a lot had happened in the meantime, but some things couldn't be forgotten.

"So why do you think an appeal isn't doomed to failure?" Braddock challenged his sister. "And if it *is* hopeless, why subject yourself and your baby to the inevitable extra stress?"

"I'm sure any appeal *is* doomed... in present circumstances," Betsy replied, coolly now. "That's why I'm going back to Uni as soon as Marianne is born -- while I work on getting a psychiatry degree, the dons there can be working on research papers about *me*. Rigorously controlled, reproduceable experiments and documented, peer reviewed publications will provide the scientific basis to allow testimony of telepathic observations to eventually be admitted as legal evidence. Meanwhile, brother dear, *you* are going to run for Parliament, and as part of your broader agenda you are going to campaign to pass laws acknowledging and legitimizing telepathic testimony -- under suitable conditions, of course, by licensed practitioners, and with all necessary safeguards --"

"Oohhh, what a marvellous idea!"

Meggan's enthusiastic squeal was drowned out by her husband's incredulous bellow. "*Me*?! I don't want to run for Parliament -- or anything else! If you want laws like that passed, *you* run, yourself!"

"I would if I could, you great big clothead!" his sister shouted back. She tried -- for just an instant -- to leap to her feet, but neither the spindly antique armchair nor her own currently swollen form was suited to any such precipitous action. Settling back down with a disgruntled scowl twisting her elegant, exotic features, she went on, "But it's a bit hard to run for office if you're not acknowledged to exist legally! Or haven't you been paying attention at all?!"

"Besides, Brian, don't be silly -- Betsy can't risk all the time and effort a campaign would take, in her condition," Meggan added.

Before Braddock could point out acerbically to his wife that she'd just gleefully agreed to volunteer them both for that exact same time- consuming hard work, Betsy spoke up again. "Plus, I'm supposed to start working with Alistaire on the first, remember? That's next week..."

"Isn't that taking on too much, Bets?"

Even if she hadn't been a telepath of note, Betsy had been able to read her twin's mind long before her power had manifested. Also, she couldn't mistake the sincere concern in his voice... and couldn't resent it too much. "It's nice of you to worry, Bri, but I *need* this job -- not for the money, but I'll need the protection of an official position in a legitimate government agency when I do 'out' myself as a telepath. And I think his idea of identifying mutants and helping them learn to understand and manifest their powers under careful supervision in controlled conditions is a good plan, even if I don't agree with how Xavier implemented the same idea. Maybe, if I'm in from the beginning, I'll be able to keep Alistaire and his people from making the same mistakes -- and make sure there's no hidden agenda to take advantage of any mutants discovered and contacted."

The purple-haired beauty held out her hand to her brother, mutely asking for help in getting up; it was about time for one of her more and more frequent bathroom runs. As he pulled her up onto her feet gently, his other arm around her back, firmly supporting her, Betsy kept on, "Remember, Meg, telling us about Brigid Shane? She was lucky she set fire to a deserted wood when her pyrokinesis manifested. She was lucky you were there to stop the blaze. She was lucky Rahne and Moira were there to talk to her and to her family, and arrange for training, and to settle the damage claim since the wood was on Kinross land. But how many others haven't been so lucky? Rahne herself was almost lynched, almost burned as a witch, just because she unexpectedly shapeshifted one day. How many others have hurt someone around them -- or themselves -- when their powers suddenly woke? I don't want to have to worry about Marianne needing protection growing up and discovering her power in some horrible accident some day and having to live with the consequences... and you could help pass laws protecting mutants *and* others in such cases."

"You're confusing me, Betsy." The blond behemoth ignored his sister's sudden smirk and muttered 'So, what else is new?' and went on doggedly, "I thought you wanted me to work on getting telepathic testimony admitted in court. Do you want me to work on telepaths' rights to testify? Or mutant rights, in general?"

"Not exactly. I told you, you'd work on laws acknowledging and legitimizing telepathic testimony as part of a broader agenda. I want you -- I want us all," her sweeping gesture first included Meggan, then shifted toward the rooms used by various members of Excalibur during their frequent stays at Braddock Manor, "to work on what Pete's friend Jenny calls 'meta-human' rights in general -- for mutants, aliens, extra-dimensional visitors, magical creatures, and *whatever* else... like Cerise, Gatecrasher and the Technet, Linda McQuillon, the Warpies, and Douglock, and Meggan herself..."

Her gait an oddly graceful waddle, the pregnant telepath left the other two to think about her suggestions while she headed for the nearest bathroom at the best pace she could manage.

Continued in Part 2...