DISCLAIMER: All characters are the property of Marvel Comics and are used without permission.

This is just a stupid little character piece I started long ago and thought I'd finish up for the mystery writer challenge.

Warning: There's a few bad words ahead.

Continuity: Between panels on page 16 of Uncanny X-Men #249.

~ ~ denotes thoughts

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A Short and Not-So-Sweet Tale of Psylocke and Havok in Austrailia

~I can't take any more of this. I just can't do it.~

Alex Summers found his burning anger slowly dissipating into the morose apathy he had grown so accustomed to these last months and he reached for another beer, once again attempting to drown his multitude of sorrows.

"Do you think drinking will enable you to deal with your problems?" The soft and lilting English voice was underlined by cool anger and slight reproach.

"Damnit, Psylocke, leave me alone." Alex deliberately took another swallow, then set down the can and began sifting through the mess for his costume. "Didn't you just tell me that you don't use your powers to read our minds? Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that honesty was a rare trait for a woman."

"Or maybe women find it necessary to lie to you because you can't handle the truth," she responded quietly from the doorway. "Or maybe you want to be lied to. Or maybe, just maybe, you're so wrapped up in yourself that you can't spot a lie until it explodes in your face."

He looked at her, stunned for a second, then laughed with rancor. "Tell me, Betsy, when did you become such a bitch? You used to be a sweet girl, what happened?"

She seated herself on the edge of his bed, brushing lilac hair over one shoulder. "It's you who have changed, Alex. You need to see that before it's too late."

"What do you care?" His anger was back now, strong and sure. "Let me guess. You're my friend, right? Well, I don't need friends like you; I don't want friends like you. I don't trust you. I don't think I ever have."

"I would like to be your friend; but the reason I care right now is that I don't want you endangering the team."

"Ah, yes, and that would matter because you're our new self-declared leader! You don't want any disasters on your watch. Of course it wouldn't even be your watch if I hadn't done what I did." The edge of self-pity in his voice was apparent again and Elizabeth shook her head in exasperation.

She had tried to be understanding, she had tried to be comforting; but he steadfastly refused any and all help. Their last conversation had upset her more than she had allowed him to see and she was rapidly becoming irritated with his behavior. He seemed intent on both remaining firmly entrenched in depression and provoking her endlessly.

She was sick of it.

She stood and took in his bloodshot eyes, his three day stubble, the overwhelming scent of alcohol. "I have some advice for you, Alex, that I really think you should take to heart."

"And what's that?"

"Get over yourself before someone else dies."

~That was cruel, Betsy~ she berated herself, ~he didn't deserve that~.

Outwardly, her face was a mask of unwavering confidence. If he saw that she was sorry, it would have no effect on him, and he needed to understand what she was saying.

He flinched almost imperceptibly at her words and then the fury surged within him like a tidal wave. "How DARE you! Who the hell do you think you are?!" He raised his fist as if to strike her; but she held her ground and his gaze and he turned, smashing his hand into the wall with a sound of frustration.

"Get out. Get out of my room now, or I won't be responsible."

"You're never responsible, Alex, that's the problem." She crossed her arms and looked at him defiantly.

"How can you stand there and say that to me?! I'm always responsible. Responsible for Storm's death. Responsible for what happened to Maddie and Scarlet and Rogue. The whole goddamned team is falling apart and it's all my fault."

"All that is debatable, and beside the point. There is a difference between being accepting blame, undeserved or not, and accepting and shouldering responsibility. You don't pull your own weight, Alex. You haven't for a very long time, almost as long as I've known you. If you don't have a contribution to make to this team, just leave."

"Who are you to tell me to leave? I've been doing this since I was a kid. I've sacrificed more than you can imagine for this. You have no right, no right at all to question me."

She felt her anger flare as well, and fought to remain calm, to keep the upper hand. "I have every right. As you said yourself, the team is falling apart. Who's going to keep us together if not me? Peter? He is a child. Alison? She never even wanted to be a part of this in the first place. You? Alex, you can't make decisions, you can't keep a cool head, and most of all, you don't believe in yourself. How can you expect us to?"

"And you certainly are the consummate leader - cold, unfeeling, and untouchable. I take back what I said earlier, about your armor hiding more than your body. There is no more to you. You're heartless and shallow - a pretty package with no depth and no substance."

Her hand flashed out, struck him in the face, leaving a stinging red mark on his cheek that appeared even as he fastened his own hand tightly around her wrist and pushed her back against the wall, attempting to intimidate her.

He was so angry, so seething with hatred, that it might have worked, had she herself had not been so furious. As she brought her knee up high and sharp into his abdomen, and he dropped to the ground in pain. "You bitch," he hissed. "You fucking *bitch*."

She stepped around him and crouched down, grabbing him by the hair before he recovered. "Look at me, Alex," she demanded. "Look at my *eyes*. Tell me I haven't lost. Tell me again how I don't know what it is to sacrifice. Damn you, look at my *eyes*."

Her grasp on his hair tightened, and he realized with shock that she was crying - not sobs; but slow, silent, single tears that left tracks down her cheeks and made her eyes - deep, violet, sightless eyes - shine.

She thrust his head away from her and quickly wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, as if she had just realized they were there. With a groan, he got to his feet and walked away from her, his anger momentarily dampened. "What do you want me to say, Bets?" he asked. "Look, I'm sorry you're blind; but that doesn't give you the right to --"

"I never said it did." Her voice was tired. "I just wanted you to realize that you're not the only one who has been affected by this life we lead. you're not the only one who has suffered. I'm sorry, Alex," she told him, as she turned toward the door. "I'm sorry I hurt you, and I'm sorry I meddled in your personal affairs. I just....I was just *worried* about you. I wanted...I wanted....*something*." She shook her head resignedly, and was gone.