Return to SenderWell, 

I wrote this because a few people thought I could do it 
justice and I hope I did, since I am so adamantly against breaking these two up! 
So, please let me know what you think... you don't know HOW painful this was to 
write. Plus, I've got small furry animals in the back... don't make me sacrifice 
them to the feedback gods. Because I will! Grrrrr! 
Disclaimer: The X-Men don't belong to me and I'm not making any money from this 
so please don't sue. I think that about covers it. 

Return to Sender
by queenB 
    
    Dearest Warren,

    I think this is the hardest letter I've ever had to write. Words are not 
    easy for me. They're even more difficult since the recent loss of my 
    telepathy. But that's no excuse. You deserve to hear this. I am just sorry 
    that I am forced by my own reasons to tell you this in a letter. I am afraid 
    if confronted with the realness of you, I won't be able to carry through on 
    what I need to do. You've always had a great deal of power over me, power I 
    refuse to give you any more. 
    Warren, I'm leaving. I'm leaving you, I'm leaving the X-Men, I'm leaving it 
    all. I have a vague recollection of what it was like to feel and to be in 
    love before one thing after another was stolen from me, before the Crimson 
    Dawn, before the Shadow King. And I know that at one point, I did love you. 
    At least I needed you. Maybe it was all just friendship and lust mixed 
    together in one wonderful, tempting package. I don't know. Maybe that's what 
    love is anyway and I've seen one too many old, romantic movies to see the 
    truth. Regardless, it's over now. It has been over for a while. We've just 
    been too blind to reality to notice. 
    But I'm leaving it all and I guess I can thank you for that as well seeing 
    as you've taken more from me than you've given. I never asked for this, 
    Warren. I should have died months and months ago after my battle with 
    Sabretooth. Instead I was left to live a mockery of the life I once had as a 
    shell of the woman I once was. And why? Because you didn't think you could 
    live without me. Well, looks like that's happening anyway. Now that's irony. 

    You just adore the chase anyway. Once the drama of my injury was over and 
    you had saved my life... you became bored with me. Resented the way I had 
    become, without once admitting it was your fault and taking responsibility. 
    If you had at least done that, I think things might work out with us 
    eventually. But you didn't, you wouldn't. You still won't. 
    I bet you're wondering 'why now?' After all this time, why am I acting on 
    this now? Because I'm finally getting angry. I'm finally blaming someone 
    other than myself. I'm finally finding myself again. After all this loss, 
    all this torment, I know I have to do something... anything... before I 
    completely lose myself. And I know I could get lost in you, Warren. I really 
    could. I could really love you if you'd just have given me the chance. But 
    be glad you didn't. It is a thing that has saved us both. 
    Truly,

    Betsy

      
  She folded the letter neatly and dropped it in an envelope. As she quickly 
  scratched his, formerly their, address onto the envelope, tears formed in her 
  eyes. She didn't know this would make her so upset. She didn't expect it to be 
  so difficult. She didn't think she would still love him. Blinking away the 
  tears that threatened to fall, she stared at the empty corner of the envelope. 
  Return address? She had none. And maybe that was the hardest thing to accept. 
  She leaned back in her chair as the thick aroma of the coffee house filled 
  her. She hadn't even gotten a cup, so intent she was on writing her letter. 
  Now she couldn't wait to have one. The mere thought of a creamy latte seemed 
  to set the world a little at ease if just for a moment. As she looked toward 
  the counter, she noticed the attendant staring at her. She grinned as the 
  younger woman blushed and looked away. Despite her foul mood and years of 
  being stared at due to her unusual demeanor and appearance, Betsy still 
  thought it was amusing when she caught someone in the act. 
  She stuffed the letter in the deep pocket of her leather coat and walked up to 
  the counter. Luckily, there was no one in line and Betsy put her money on the 
  counter and said quietly, "Single Vanilla Latte, please." 
  The woman blushed again and set to work, all the while looking any where but 
  at Betsy. When she finished with the latte and was ringing up her tab, Betsy 
  stated, "You don't have to be afraid of me. I don't bite." 
  She giggled nervously and ran a hand through her short, curly hair. Betsy took 
  a moment to study her and determined that through all the eye brow piercings 
  and tattoos, she was a rather attractive girl. After a few seconds, the young 
  woman peered around to see if anyone was paying them any attention. The shop 
  was unusually empty for a night as cold as this and the girl obviously felt 
  slightly relieved at this fact as she ventured, "I'm sorry. I couldn't help 
  but stare." 
  Betsy shrugged, "It's okay. I'm used to it." 
  The girl pointed at her left eye and said, "It's just your tattoo. That must 
  have really hurt going on. I mean, you eye lid and stuff? Ouch." 
  She thought about telling the girl how the tattoo wasn't done with needles in 
  a tattoo parlor, that the brand had been placed on her magically, indicating 
  her debt to the order it was the seal of. Instead, Betsy closed her eyes 
  briefly before she said, "Yes, it did." 
  The girl studied her some more and then asked, "You one of those super hero 
  types?" 
  Smiling a little as she took her change, Betsy said almost casually, "No. I'm 
  no one. No one at all. Someday I hope to be someone. But not today. Today no 
  one is just fine." 
  She could feel the young woman's eyes on her as she walked away, telepathy or 
  no. She was sure her words had rattled the girl at least a little. And she was 
  glad of it. 
  Outside of the coffee shop, she found a mailbox. She pulled the letter out of 
  her coat pocket and affixed a stamp to the corner. Slowly, she opened the door 
  of the box and was about to let the letter slip from her fingers, when she 
  found that she couldn't. She couldn't do things that way. She owed Warren a 
  face to face explanation. She had not lost all of her dignity. She could do 
  that one thing. 
  So, she stuffed the letter back into her coat and began the short walk to 
  Warren's loft. Every step she took mimicked the suddenly audible beat of her 
  heart. Her heels clicked steadily on the concrete below her as she sipped her 
  cooling coffee. 
  Click. 
  Click. 
  Soon her steps began to remind her of the ticking of a clock, a count-down of 
  some sort. She closed her eyes and stood still. Why was she doing this? Why 
  was she going to walk right into the heart of the storm and try to defuse a 
  ticking bomb? Warren would be angry, he would be hurt. Nothing she could say 
  or do besides deciding to stay with him would change that. And she could not 
  do that. It was over. She owed him nothing save the fact of informing him. The 
  letter would suffice. 
  When she opened her eyes, she realized where she was. She had already made it 
  to Warren's building. Sighing heavily, she looked up at the fuzzy, 
  city-blurred stars only to notice a familiar silhouette standing on a familiar 
  balcony. He was watching her; she could feel it. His eye sight was at least 
  ten times sharper than her own. She knew that he could see her from where he 
  was. She felt his blue gaze on her, knew the expression of longing and 
  confusion that must be on his face. As she stood there, her face tilted up 
  toward the star-smeared sky, she knew she could drown in those eyes. 
  So she walked away. 
  She didn't know exactly where she was going or how far she had traveled. She 
  just kept telling herself not to run. Running would show fear. And she wasn't 
  afraid. She was not afraid. 
  After a while, she heard the distinct rumble of a Harley Davidson behind her. 
  'Dear Lord,' she thought to herself. 'Not him. Not now.' 
  But her prayer was not answered as the motorcycle pulled to stop a few feet in 
  front of her and the driver asked through clenched teeth, "Where the hell are 
  ya runnin' off to in such a hurry, darlin'?" 
  Attempting to summon up as much cold dignity as possible, Betsy glared at him 
  and said, "Away." 
  Logan slid off his chopper and said, "I can see that, Betts." 
  'Betts.' Warren called her that. As did Logan. She let the name rest a while 
  in her mind as she struggled with who had started calling her that first. And 
  for a brief moment she wondered why she had never pondered it before. Then 
  Wolverine interrupted her thoughts as he asked coolly, "Where have ya been? No 
  one's seen hide or hair of ya in close to three days." 
  Turning her collar up against the cold and shoving a gloved hand into her 
  pocket, Betsy responded, "I've been out." 
  Logan began to orbit her for a while, obviously taking in the scent of her. 
  She casually discarded her now cold coffee in a nearby trash bin, hoping to 
  bolster her calm facade. It didn't work. 
  He hastily took her hand and squeezed it tightly in his own as he nearly 
  pleaded, "What's going on, darlin'? What's got ya so keyed up that yer hearts 
  about to break into a million pieces? I've never seen ya like this." 
  Shutting her eyes tightly, she muttered, "Then maybe you've never seen me at 
  all. Maybe I'm not even here. Maybe I'm just a ghost." 
  As the words left her mouth, she started to feel as if she were choking, 
  drowning in the torrent of self pity and loss that washed over her. She was 
  not going to cry, damn it. She was not going to let him see her like this. 
  She wanted to run, but suddenly she felt really tired, as if she hadn't slept 
  in days. And maybe she hadn't. At this point she couldn't remember. Somehow, 
  she made it to a bench and sat down, its cold metal pressing chill into every 
  cell of her body. And he was there next to her, damn him, trying to soothe her 
  and make everything better. 
  She barely listened as he whispered in her ear, "It's okay, Betts. Betsy, 
  darlin'. It'll all be okay. Precious. Betsy." 
  She couldn't take it any more. 
  She opened her eyes and saw Logan's wild but gentle eyes staring into her own 
  as she said quietly,"Stop it. Please." 
  He looked at her in a way she wasn't sure if she had seen before, or perhaps 
  it was just in a way she hadn't noticed before. No words passed between them, 
  but she knew that at this moment at least, she was the most important person 
  in the world to him. She was his everything. The thought of it pounded against 
  her skull hard and swift, threatening to wrench apart the small grasp she had 
  on reality. 
  And then he kissed her. No, she kissed him. 
  His lips were softer than she would have imagined. As the cold air raced 
  through her skin to her bones, they warmed her to the core. She knew she could 
  enjoy being with him. She knew she wanted to be. Maybe she always had. And 
  then she realized she was getting lost, again. She promised herself she 
  wouldn't. Ever. 
  She broke the kiss and got to her feet. With her back to him, she quickly 
  dried her eyes as she said, "I'm sorry about that, Logan. I didn't want that 
  to happen." 
  From behind her, she heard him say, "Oh yes ya did. Both of us have been 
  wantin' it for a long time now. Just couldn't admit it to ourselves." 
  The honesty of his statement brought more of a chill to her skin. She 
  swallowed hard before she said, "And you have a gifted imagination." 
  "Don't say that." 
  Turning on her heel, she glared at him. No doubt her eyes burned with all the 
  pent up fury of the last few months of her life as she fumed, "I can say 
  anything I bloody well like." 
  Still sitting on the bench, Logan actually looked shocked as he apologized and 
  then asked, "What now, then? What's going on?" 
  "I'm leaving. That's what's going on." 
  He got to his feet and stood beside her as he asked, "Even after what just 
  happened?" 
  Betsy turned away from him as she said, "Especially after what just happened." 

  She didn't want to talk about it anymore. She just wanted to get away from it 
  all. From Warren... from both of them. Now. How dare he do this to her? Why 
  did everything have to be so complicated? She couldn't deal with this now. She 
  wasn't sure if she would ever want to. So she pulled the letter to Warren out 
  of her coat and pressed it into Logan's hand. She couldn't believe she was 
  asking this of him, but it seemed the easiest solution. And maybe it was. 
  Logan looked down at the letter and swallowed hard as he asked, "And what the 
  hell am I supposed to do with this?" 
  Betsy walked to the corner and watched for a cab as she said loud enough for 
  him to hear, "Take it to Warren. The two of you have plenty to talk about." 
  A cab came into view and she got the driver's attention. As the yellow car 
  came to a stop. Logan jogged toward her and asked, "Where are you going?" 
  She grinned as she opened the door to the car and said, "Some place 
  beautiful... and warm." 
  Slamming the door shut behind her, the cab driver asked her where she wanted 
  to go. She responded, "LaGuardia. That sounds like a splendid place to start 
  my new life." 
  The cabby shrugged as he pulled away from the curb and said, "Lady, you sure 
  have a funny perspective on things." 
  Betsy smiled as she surveyed the driver's blank expression in the rear view 
  mirror, "I sure do. I definitely do."