will1@earthling.net

 A Dozen's Bakers

 by Phil Hartman

 DISCLAIMER: They're all Marvel's,
except any OCs, who are mine. It's
all fiction. No money is being made 
off of this. Etc.

 NOTE: AHK! Naughty Betsy! I can't
shake her ...

 Seriously, this is something of a
cross between a fan request and a
semi-epilogue to my recent Betsy
arc - there will be more stories,
but there were a few dangling plot
threads ...

 NOTE 2: If it's not obvious, this
is AU. Also, some language, 
mature themes, etc. - nothing
shockingly blatant, but Betsy's
never been entirely tame (reread
UXM 213 if you need proof ;)

-------------------------------
 7/19/06:
-------------------------------

 Betsy Braddock was ...  bothered. 

 She shifted in her robe, looking out from
her suite in Dover toward the sunrise,
and sipped her tea as she looked at the
Spanish-language paper she'd had specially
overnighted from Valencia.

 "Local Murder Suspect Found Butchered,"
the headline read, prompting Betsy to
look away with a moue of ... frustration?

 #I won't feel guilty about this. Vargas
*killed* me. It was his own fault the 
bloody sword fell onto his neck. I did
fry his voluntary nervous system, and 
evidently he found a way to get his 
bloody sword to finish the job,# she
told herself. 

 She hadn't swung the wretched
blade, after all. She'd been slightly 
more merciful than he'd been to her.

 #Which really isn't very much,# Betsy
admitted - if only to herself, in the deep,
dark corner of her soul.

 #Damn guilt. Damn Xavier for not letting
me use Cerebra - no. That's not fair. The
Professor had every right to refuse me
that,# Betsy admitted.

 She'd gone to see Xavier after she had
overseen Jean replay a holographic image
of the day Jean and Scott had given up
their human son, decades ago (1). 

 #I was so determined to confront my
own demons, as Jean found the strength
to. Of course, the Professor advised me 
to 'talk' about it, instead of using
Cerebra to flog the wretched bastard 
long-distance...# Betsy thought wryly.

 Xavier had flatly disapproved of Betsy's
request to go after Vargas mentally - 
probably the only way she could've 
defeated the assassin, she admitted with
no small amount of dissatisfaction. She'd
shrugged, then, and said she needed to
take some time to herself.

 #Warren fretted; Logan just nodded. Most
of the others were so busy dealing with
the fallout from taking down Weapon X that
I was able to slip through the cracks,#
Betsy thought.

 She'd shocked many of her old society
contacts by showing up in London early
the day before, but they were all too
happy to help Betsy - the news of her
"miraculous rebirth" had made many
rounds among the lords and ladies,
and she'd been able to use the rush
of goodwill to pull strings and sneak 
into Spain by the afternoon.

 #And then I simply went to Valencia,
following Remy's memories - bless him
for letting me borrow them - and found
Vargas' house. And then I waited,# she
thought, sighing.

 As in recent years, she'd chosen action 
over talking. Logan and Remy had suspected
what she was up to, and Warren had almost
spilled the beans - she could tell he was 
going to be uncomfortable for some time - 
but no one had tried to stop her.

 #Not even Charles Xavier. And that's 
a surprise - the man's not stupid, he
had to have guessed that I'd go and
do it anyhow,# Betsy thought, shaking
her head.

 The Vargas estate had lacked psi-shields;
either Vargas had been supremely arrogant
or she'd been reincarnated with more 
power than she remembered. It hadn't
been difficult to deal with the Thais twins - 
one blunt psi-blast - and she'd been saving her 
finesse for  dealing with Vargas. She'd 
stayed off the grounds physically, of course.

 #I'd intended only to psi-blast him,
give my bitter little speech and leave.
But then I got caught up in his dream ...
chilling little walk down memory lane,#
Betsy reflected.

 #I just had to go for the jugular, instead
of talk ... talking is the one thing I've been 
afraid to do, of course.#

 She'd been witty, and almost crass, 
about her revival, in the days since Franklin
Richards had  brought her spirit back from 
Dreamtime and created a new body for
her. It had been so much *fun* to revel in 
this, her latest second chance at life ...

 #But the chaos of my rebirth, combined
with the attack by Cassandra Nova,
rescuing Cecilia from Weapon X,
and the revelations about Scott and Jean's
past, gave me excuses to simply ignore
the real issues of being alive again,#
Betsy admitted - only to herself, of
course. 

 She remembered dying. 

 #That damn sword was *cold.*
There was little pain. But the feeling
of ... being run *through* was just ...
hideous,# Betsy thought, closing her
eyes against the memory.

 That had been - July 13? Somewhere
around there. It'd been easy to lose track
of time.

 #I was back by the 14th, so it's not
as if I was dead very long. I do wonder
where I was between looking up into
Henry's face, then the darkness, then
Dreamtime ...# Betsy remembered.

 It was as if she'd awoken - she had
no memories of what'd happened between
dying in Hank's arms and finding herself
talking to Bishop (and she hoped he'd 
mentioned their disturbing little chat to 
Remy; the sight of LeBeau pulling a Leonardo 
drawing had been burned into her memory, 
and it *had* been deadly serious).

 #And then Franklin pulled me through
the portal, and the rest is history,#
Betsy thought, sipping her tea. 

 #I suppose I have to admit I can be
a bloody cruel bitch at times. And that
sometimes, it's OK - rarely, but then
again, I don't make it a habit to be
run through and seek revenge ...#

 Betsy concentrated, then, and frowned;
ever since finding she'd been reincarnated
in a reasonable facsimile of her original body,
she'd been having to adjust to the return of
her telepathy. Dover's population
was just large enough to give her fits if she
didn't concentrate on her mindshield ...

 #Like whispers in a crowded room  -
more frustrating than dangerous. But I
should probably deal with it. And that
means keeping my 'cover appointment,'#
Betsy reminded herself, smiling.

 She heard the click of the gun safety
before she reached her feet, and she froze
in her seat.

 "Senora Braddock. Very impressive feat,
watching the sun rise after you'd been
autopsied," an unfamiliar voice - a woman's,
fairly young, lightly accented with 
Spanish - said from the door to Betsy's suite.
 
 "May I at least turn around? I'd rather
face my ... questioner," Betsy said - 
there was definitely a telltale psionic
blind spot around her "guest," a dead
giveaway of an artificial psi-screen,
and she hadn't been paying attention to
who was coming and going ...

 "Si. I owe you that much," the woman
said. Betsy shifted in her seat and looked
at the newcomer, who sat at the table
across from Betsy.

 She was blonde and blue-eyed, but with 
an odd tan cast to her skin - really, the
woman reminded Betsy more of Heather
Cameron and her lifeguard's tan, than
a Latina. But she wasn't about to assume
anything about someone who'd been able
to sneak up on her.

 The woman adjusted her miniskirt and 
slipped the revolver she'd been holding
into the hidden holster in her jacket. 
"Maria Pilar Cortes, chief of Action
Force - and I'm not connected to Fabian
Cortes, other than wanting to shoot
the ass," she said, giving Betsy a
half-smile.

 "Ah." Betsy merely nodded; if there
was anyone on the planet who'd had
as much reason to hate Vargas as she
did, it would be the leader of the 
organization who had lost so many 
personnel to Vargas' indiscriminate 
killing spree.

 "Your psionic signature was well-hidden,
but not *quite* completely erased from
Vargas' bedroom. I was quite impressed,"
Maria said, looking out toward the waves.

 Betsy caught her eye, then asked, "Are
you here to arrest me?"

 "Merely to ask that you ... avoid Spain
for some time. Nobody is looking for you.
And in our own files, this unpleasant affair
will be listed as a freak accident - Vargas'
unnatural physique finally overloaded, causing
accelerated neural breakdown. And his sword's
supports were worn, and broke by themselves,"
Maria said matter-of-factly.

 She smiled warmly at Betsy then, and added,
"But there could be unpleasant questions,
if you were to suddenly turn up attending a
society ball or other cross-Channel gathering.
I hear you explained your rebirth as a 'joke 
gone wrong,' hiring an actress to take your 
place while you vacationed in the Far East."

 "And she was tragically killed by an 
obsessed fan from my modeling days. It 
does make quite the salacious tale ... 
I'll steer clear of Spain for the forseeable
future," Betsy promised, giving Maria the
hint of a friendly smile.

 "Gracias. For both the 'consideration' ...
and for dealing with Vargas. At least, to
a point - I don't believe you meant for 
him to die," Maria said, shaking Betsy's
hand and getting up to leave.

 She stopped at the door, then looked
back and said, "Don't feel guilty. You
were almost *too* kind, if I might
say so - I lost dozens of good people
to that animal. I owe you for bringing
some closure to them."

 "I'll ... keep that in mind," Betsy
thought, nodding as Maria left. She
breathed a sigh of relief, then finished
her tea and got up, stretching.

 #Nice enough woman. I have to give
her credit ... and thanks, if I ever see
her again,# Betsy thought, smiling 
honestly as she headed for the shower.

 #And maybe I should forgive myself ...#

-------------------------------------
 
 Getting into Britain, then into Spain,
had been easy, compared to the 
trip to Muir Island.
 
 #Bloody Page 3 -! I know the entire
cover story is gossip fodder, but 
you'd think the Sun would have some
tart to showcase, instead of going on
about 'the mysterious return of our
favorite daughter,'# Betsy thought,
trying to ignore the way the young
man across the aisle kept glancing at
her.

 She'd caught a commuter flight from
London to Edinburgh, dodging paparazzi,
then another to Ullapool - a very
small flight, admittedly, but at least
the DC-9 was a step above the Piper
Cub she'd feared she'd have to
take.

 #And it's not like we kept a family plane
gassed up and on hand these past few 
years. Between my gallavanting and
Brian's adventures with Excalibur,
I haven't had a chance to simply
fly over the countryside ... the
Blackbird is NOT a proper substitute,#
Betsy thought regretfully.

 Then the wheels touched down, and
she tried not to start at the realization
of how time had flown. 

 #I really need to rest. I'll owe Moira
and Sean for letting me vacation at
Muir,# Betsy thought as she got up.
She got her carryon bag, then headed
for the exit, smiling when her "admirer"
let her go ahead of him.

 Then she blinked, and looked over her
shoulder in overt surprise at the 
man, who smirked and said, "I had
to get used to seeing you like that
again, Betts."

 "Alex - Alex Summers!?" Betsy
gasped, heading for the exit even
as she kept an eye on her fellow
passenger. They hugged at the bottom
of the boarding ramp, and moved aside
to let the rest of the passengers get off.
  
 "Piotr called me - you still know how
to give a Russian fits - and told us the
good news. I was heading to Muir to
bring Moira some cell samples as
a part of our cooperation agreement
with MI-5, so I figured I'd schedule
a chance to see you again," Alex
said, shaking his head in amazement
as they walked toward customs.

 "It's good to see you, too. You
came alone?" Betsy asked, letting
the baggage checker examine her
carryon as she looked Alex over
critically.
 
 Despite being 38 - he was four
years younger than Scott, Betsy
remembered, and she'd already
had to eat crow over not remembering
that Scott and Jean were 42, not
43 - Alex still looked ridiculously
young for his age, with mussed blond
hair and an athletic frame he kept
homed as X-Factor's field leader.
 
 #And this coming from someone who 
just shed 10 years through a ... 
radical ... procedure?# Betsy reminded
herself, fighting a silly smile - 
she wasn't complaining that Franklin 
had knocked about 20 pounds and a fair 
share of wrinkles off of her ...

 "Lorna's *vacationing* on Muir -
cold, wild seas, rocks barely covered
with moss, and that giant hole in the
middle, and she calls *that* a vacation
spot. I think we spent too much time 
there back during the old days," Alex
quipped, smiling sheepishly at the look
of mock offense the customs agent gave
him.

 "T'is a fine piece o' Caledonian land,
Mr. - Summers. An' hae a nice time,"
the young woman said, giving Alex a
wistful look as he and Betsy headed
toward the car rental booth.

 Alex's blush made Betsy give him a
wicked grin, and she teased, "You
never used to ignore the pretty ones ..."

 "That was years - and one possessed
girlfriend - ago. I have a public image to
keep up, also," Alex said, sniffing as he
checked the suitcase of cell samples he'd
brought as his carryon.

 Betsy laughed uproariously at that, 
letting herself enjoy the feeling, until
she heard, "BETSY!?" - 

 - and spun about, her unabashed joy
at *living* again with an old friend
dropping with her heart, as she 
looked at where a young couple were
holding a large cardboard sign that
read "Alex Summers."

 The young woman's green eyes 
widened, and she pushed reddish locks
out of her long red hair, while her
blond, blue-eyed husband blinked and
looked directly at Betsy with a dropped
jaw.

 Then, Doug and Rahne Ramsey composed
themselves, and Rahne called, "Welcome,
both o' ye. Lady Moira asked us t'come an'
pick ye up, Alex - would ye like a ride,
also, Betsy?"

 "Quite, Rahne, thank you," Betsy said,
composing herself; she'd expected to run
into the former New Mutant, seeing as how
Rahne had stayed with Moira during the five 
years since Rahne had left in protest against
her teammates becoming X-Force.

 But Doug ... 

 #I'd expected he'd be busy with his SHIELD
work. I knew they'd married, but I deliberately
kept my distance ... even if he's an adult, I
have no right butting into their relationship,#
Betsy thought, following Alex and the Ramseys
toward a waiting limo.

 They got in, almost too quiet, and Betsy let
herself smile as the driver looked through
the window with a surprised expression.
"Elizabeth. T'is - good, t'see ye," Sean
Cassidy said, smiling with honest joy
as she met his green gaze.

 "And you, Sean. I'd hoped Excalibur or
the X-Men had spread the news of my ...
return," Betsy said, not missing the
astute glint in her former combat teacher's
eyes as he turned his attention to pulling
the limo away from the curb.

 She turned back to Doug and Rahne, not
missing the uncomfortable smile Alex
had. He'd been fully aware of the 
history between Doug and Betsy -
if an innocent teenaged crush could
be called "history" ...

 #Oh, have some bloody pluck,
Braddock. You can practically tell
Rahne's hackles are up - and if you
don't do something, that might be
literal,# Betsy reminded herself,
as she sensed the concern, 
defensiveness and - fear? - coming
off of the Scots lycanthrope.

 ~Rahne. Douglas is yours. He and I
are - and ever will be - merely friends,
I vow,~ Betsy sent, meeting Rahne's
gaze.

 #I ... appreciate that, Betsy. I'm
sorry - I should trust Doug -and you -
more. It's just ... you're back, looking
as good as you ever did, and I guess I'm
jealous,# Rahne admitted, blushing very
noticeably in the early-afternoon sunlight,
given her complexion.

 Betsy smiled at that, and nodded;
she and Rahne had their truce, at least.
She spared Doug a glance, and he smiled
sheepishly as she sent, ~You'd better be
treating her right, Douglas. Rahne is
a good sport.~

 ~Hey, I know a good thing when I have
it. And as much as you meant to me, I
was just a kid. I'll settle for friendship,~
Doug thought back at her. 
 
 Betsy mentally hugged him, then gave
Alex a glance as he and Rahne tried to
avoid looking at each other. She'd heard
the tales of his time, "atoning" for his
period as "Magistrate Summers," and
how Rahne - who'd been narrowly saved
from the transmodation process during the
first New Mutants' overthrow of the old
Genoshan government - had spent time with
him in the first days of reconstruction ...

 #We were all recovering after the Shadow
King's defeat at Muir, and we didn't have
any time to follow up on the New Mutants
being attacked by the Genoshans. Poor 
Warlock was killed, and Rahne quit the
team out of anger with Samuel's suddenly
violent bent ... she helped  the mutates receive 
nternational aid, and Alex spent time with
her before we all gathered at Muir, and 
the second X-Factor formed ...# she reflected.

 "Doug ... I hear your decrypt work
with SHIELD is really helping, dealing
with the intel feed from Genosha,"
Alex said, trying to smile at the 
younger man.

 "Anything we can do to keep a step
ahead of Magnus' frothing followers.
It's nice to be at a desk job, even if it
keeps me too far from home," Doug
quipped, looking at Rahne with real
remorse.

 "AUGH! Will you two set aside your
male egos!? Doug, Rahne loves *you.*
Alex is happy with Lorna. I swear,
this is probably the bloody most
ironic quartet in all of X-dom, stuck
in ONE limo!?" Betsy snapped - the
angst and guilt was getting too damn
THICK - 
 
 The others blushed, until an oddly-pitched
cough got their attention. "Or, ye could
look at it as a way t'deal with lingering
issues," Sean said, smiling at them in
the rear-view mirror.
 
 "You - Sean, did you set us up!?"
Alex exclaimed with half-feigned
outrage.

 "Well, Lorna an' Rahne dealt with THEIR
territory issues years ago, an' I get sick
o' dealing with Moira's fretting over how
much time Doug spends away - not your
fault, lad - so I thought why not clear
the air?" Sean said innocently.

 "And that, lady and gentlemen, is why
Banshee not only tutored me when I was 
a neophyte X-person, but also taught 
Generation X - Irish cunning," Betsy snorted
good-naturedly.

 "T'is a lack of patience with yuir Sassenach
politesse, Lady Braddock," Sean chuckled.
"The dock's just ahead ..."

--------------------------------------

 The boat ride had been uneventful, although
much less tense; Doug and Rahne definitely
seemed more relaxed, and Alex and Doug
were able to "shoot the bull" about the
Mets. Betsy had headed for the lab for
her assessment, and Alex had given the
cell samples to Rahne for processing
before looking for Lorna.

 "Betsy! Ach, let me see ye - amazin'.
I've got t' see Franklin in action sometime
soon," Moira said, shaking her head in
honest fascination after hugging Betsy
in the exam room doorway.

 "He is something," Betsy agreed.
She slipped behind an exam curtain and
changed into her original Psylocke 
costume, then walked out to let Moira
run a handheld scanner up and down
her body.

 "Guid Lord. A perfect genetic match
against yuir first body's DNA. It's
as if ye'd spent the past nine years in
a stasis pod," Moira whispered.

 She motioned for Betsy to sit on the
edge of an exam table, then sat at her
desk and started ticking off items on a
list on a clipboard. "I got Sage's bioscan
results, so most o' my answers are back
in yuir file. But, ye had somethin' specific
in mind ...?" Moira asked.

 Betsy looked uncomfortable, then sighed
and said, "Moira ... am I fertile?"

 Moira raised an eyebrow at that, as Betsy
met her gaze and continued. 

 "I know it's probably going to sound silly, 
coming from the 'action junkie,' but ... seeing 
Jean with her family ... and coming back from 
the dead ...AGAIN ... and learning about - certain
secrets - I've been mulling over how much time
I have left to have a child," Betsy admitted,
remembering the haunting image of Jean in
the Danger Room, giving up her own firstborn
son ...

 "Well, there's nae sign that yuir reproductive
tract is dysfunctional - Sage's bioscan was *quite*
thorough. Ye don't have any specific father in mind, 
do ye?" Moira asked, her professional mask slipping
as she gave the younger woman a teasing grin.

 "Douglas and Neal are just friends, and I don't know
where I stand with Warren, other than a truce - he did 
save my life the other day when we drove off the 
Crimson Dawn, but we agreed not to read anything 
more into that than we needed to," Betsy said, smiling
wistfully.

 "Well, speakin' as one who knows how difficult 
maternity can be, dinnae rush int' anything. Unless
ye hae any more tests ye want done, ye're free t'go,"
Moira said.

 "I think I'll meditate. Alex's grouse notwithstanding,
Muir *is* excellent for that," Betsy said. She got up,
grabbing her carryon bag, and headed for the door - 

 - only to find it blocked by a gaping, pink-haired
woman in a jacket, brown and white pants, and
a blue spandex top with a starburst emblem.

 "Betsy ...?" the newcomer asked, starting to
grin incredulously.

 "Alison?" Betsy replied, returning the younger
woman's grin.

 "AAHHHH!!! Nobody TOLD me - I wanted to pop
in from doing a retro show in the Edinburgh clubs - 
and then Piotr told me you'd DIED - you're ALIVE!!!"
Dazzler shrieked, hugging her friend. She stood back,
grinning, and added, "You look GREAT! How -"

 "Franklin Richards restored my first body - you
look well! And your hair - a surprise - it does look
good on you, though," Betsy gushed - Alison's glee
was infectious, and there was a wellspring of 
honest friendship beneath the pop-star facade which
Betsy had missed. 

 "Eh. It's my new 'thing' - got to maintain my
edge if I'm gonna return to the limelight. C'mon - 
let's go find my significant other and catch up,"
Alison said, smiling when one of the hallway
ceiling panels slid aside and a lithe figure slipped
into the hall.

 "Psylocke? You're back!" Longshot crowed,
kissing Alison's cheek before he hugged Betsy
and linked arms with either of his teammates.

 "That I am, Longshot. I'm glad to see you 
still with Alison," Betsy said, honestly - 
despite the Siege Perilous, Longshot's own
disappearing act, and the various Mojos of
the past few years, the Lightengale and the
luck-caster had managed to remain one of
the most stable X-couples.
 
 #And if they can make it work, why can't
I seem to settle down ...?#

----------------------------------------

 Several hours - and a rather gorging meal
of ham and pineapple pizza - later, Betsy
pushed back from a table in an Ullapool 
pub and stretched out, watching as Alison
warmed up and Longshot checked the drums.

 #I had too much to eat ... the simple pleasures.
I really should make this vacation last,# Betsy
thought, simply savoring the moment - a friendly
crowd (or, at least, not anti-mutant), old
friends, a warm fire ... 

 "Great Spirit. I'd heard you were back, but
I had to see it for myself."

 "Forge? Good God, is this Old Home Week?"
Betsy asked, laughing as the Maker slipped
into the chair Longshot had vacated. The 
Cheyenne mutant returned Betsy's smile and
helped himself to a leftover slice, raising an
eyebrow as a third mutant slipped into
Alison's seat.

 "Why not? It's never a bad time to greet old
friends," Lorna Dane said, squeezing Betsy's
forearm in greeting. She made a face at the
last slice of pizza and waved down a waitress, 
muttering, "No haggis?"

 "You WANT haggis?" Betsy joked, sotto
voce as the waitress walked over.

 "Point. And I won't tease the woman who
freed me from Malice," Polaris replied, before
she ordered a miniature Canadian bacon and
cheese mini-pizza. 

 "I figured I'd check out Muir's defense grid - 
anything to get out of Falls Edge for a while.
Val's been swamped in some kind of top-secret
project out at the old Hulkbuster base, so I'm
stuck with the paperwork. I hate administration,"
Forge grumbled good-naturedly.

 "Well, I'm glad to see you both. But doesn't
that leave X-Factor rather short-staffed?"
Betsy asked, sipping her beer and waving Alex,
Doug and Rahne over as they entered the pub.

 Forge looked ill at that, and muttered, "We 
did leave Jamie, Guido, Lila and Pietro alone."

 "Exactly. They'll cancel each other out and
everything will be fine. We *deserve* this
vacation," Lorna insisted, letting Alex kiss
her cheek as he helped Doug pull an extra 
table over and sat beside her.

 "Barkeep! A bottle of your finest - we have
old friends and new starts to toast!" Doug
whooped, drawing a raucous cheer from the
rest of the customers. 

 Betsy blushed, but smiled when Rahne 
gently squeezed her shoulder. "Ye deserve
it, really," the younger woman said, sitting 
between Betsy and Doug.
 
 "Thank you - all of you," Betsy said,
suddenly overcome with the sheer amount
of goodwill in the room. She accepted a glass
of champagne, wiping her eyes as she stood
once the others had their glasses filled.

 "I started out today uncertain of my place -
or even whether I deserved to be around," Betsy
admitted, smiling at the suddenly-worried looks
her friends gave her.

 "But all I really needed was a reminder of what
life is for - doing the most we can to help others
while we're here, and celebrating with those we
care for. Thank you, all, for that. Slainte!"

 "SLAINTE!" the entire bar cheered, and applause
roared, as Alison started in on a cover of "Whisky
in the Jar." She winked at Betsy, who beamed back
at her, and the telepath sat down to her drink and
the chatter around the table.

 #Farewell, Vargas. Farewell, bloody angst. 
I am BACK, and I've got a fresh start,# Betsy
thought.

 #Let's see where it takes me ...#


----------------------------------------
  A beginning ... ;)
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