Though she didn’t want to use it, Isabella couldn’t stop dwelling on the chloroform. It had arrived on time, to her shipping container, as her contact had said it would. It was a brown medicine bottle, innocuous, but she trusted without any doubt that it was what he had promised. She had slipped it into her duffel bag, and tried to put it out of her mind. The opportunity to use it hadn’t arisen yet. From surveillance, she knew that Oswald wasn’t healed enough to leave his home, so Edward wouldn’t be unaccompanied for a while. But still. She dwelt.
I hope he doesn’t fuss, she thought. And then, as if on cue, the woman beside her spoke. Isabella turned quickly, and stared at her. She was quite sure she hadn’t spoken out loud. Immediately, automatically, she assumed the worst. This woman was a psychic, or a mind reader. She pictured shutters closing over her mind, protecting the images of the chloroform bottle, and the perfect farmhouse, and Edward, from this stranger.
“I didn’t say anything,” she said, calmly, though her heart was beating fast. Perhaps she was mistaken. Maybe this woman hadn’t heard her thoughts. Perhaps she had just heard something, and wasn’t gifted. But, as much as Isabella wanted to believe that, her self-preservation told her that she was wrong. She managed a smile. “I think you’re hearing things.”
Almost immediately, Betsy got a bad feeling. She carefully put up her mental shields, wanting to make sure that there was no way for the other’s mind to grab a hold of hers. Betsy’s psyche was strong, scarred over from years of hard work and abuse, but she knew that it would be too easy for her to slip back into a dark spiral. She was out of practice. Honestly, the moment that she started feeling that something was off, she should have just walked away rather than trying to engage further, but she couldn’t. Her sense of right and wrong was too deeply ingrained for her to just shake the bad feeling off and pretend that nothing was wrong.
When the other woman’s thoughts changed, she knew that if she didn’t know for sure that Betsy was a psychic, she must have suspected it. Still, Betsy continued on like nothing had changed, not wanting to arouse suspicion just yet. She wasn’t about to drop it so easily, but she also didn’t want to get into a fight here in public. She pressed her lips together for a moment, her expression neutral and thoughtful.
“I don’t think I’m hearing things,” she replied, tilting her head slightly. “You seem pretty certain I did, though.” Betsy didn’t like that, either. Something about this entire interaction felt fishy, and she knew that she couldn’t walk away in good conscience. Even if she wasn’t supposed to be Psylocke anymore, even if she was just supposed to be civilian Betsy Braddock, she would never be able to turn her back on her morals.