Pulse, Part Twenty

by Tangerine

 Bobby stood on the edge of Muir Island watching the tide come in.  The cool sea air was cleansing, and he stared at the water, taking in the vastness of the beauty, amazed that he had never just come and watched this before.  What a world he was living in, what a world!

 "I had never seen the sea before I came to this world," Shatterstar said quietly, having searched the entire island trying to find Iceman.  Bobby turned to look at him, his arms crossed over his chest, and Shatterstar smiled.  "I have been looking for you."

 "Oh?"

 "Yes."  Shatterstar turned to the horizon, the angles of his face brightly cast against the green of Muir, and Bobby stared at him, memorising every slope and rise of bone.  "I think I have been looking for you for a very long time and only now have I found you.  I have come to ask if ... if perhaps that is what you feel, too."

 Bobby smiled shyly, treading on foreign ground.  "I think so.  Gav, it won't be easy."

 "I know.  I have seen the news."  Shatterstar turned to look at him, his long hair loose and blowing gently in the wind.  "But I respect you.  I like to be with you.  You make me feel human, so it is with you I wish to bond.  I did not know what it meant to smile until I met you."  He paused, his fingers straying to where Moira had taken blood. His forearms were heavily bandaged, healing from the burns.  "I spoke to Domino.  She does not like you."

 Bobby laughed lightly.  "I've noticed."

 "But she said that if it made me happy then she was glad for me, though she said Gambit would have been an improvement, that at least he was charming."  Shatterstar grinned, pushing his hair from his face with one hand.  "I told her to 'fuck off.'"

 Bobby snorted, quite unable to picture it but oddly flattered by the comment.  "You didn't."

 "She said she would wash my mouth out with soap if I picked up cursing.  I assured her I would only swear for special occasions."  Shatterstar looked at Bobby then moved to him, putting his hand against the Iceman's face.  There were sparks between them and true happiness in spite of it all.   Shatterstar smiled earnestly.  "This will be good."

 "Yeah," Bobby agreed, "it will be."

****

 Moira stared at the X-Rays as Emma, Domino and Remy sat at the table, drinking bad coffee and fearing for their lives.  She hummed and nodded, scratching her chin.  "Aye, it's Warren, no doubt about that."

 "Then what's the problem?"  Domino asked, tapping her fingers on the table.  "Last we saw, Worthington was sporting a pair of wings and blue skin, not to mention he was all there in the head, or so some people claimed.  This ... thing we brought back, it isn't like that."

 "According to Bobby and Betsy, Warren lost his wings a month before he died to a reanimate of Candy Southern.  The rest, though, I blame on severe mental repression," Moira said, sitting at the table.  "He does nae speak, but I think he understands every word.  The poor lad is in shock, Domino, but yuir right.  This is nae the same Warren.  Any traces of Apocalypse are gone from his system.  I have blood samples from before he lost his wings, after he came back from Apocalypse and now.  The first and last match.  He is as he should have been if Apocalypse had never come into his life."

 "So he is essentially human?"  Emma asked, standing up and walking to the pane of glass that allowed them to peer into the adjoining room.  Betsy sat in the rocking chair, her hand in the incubator that held her baby, stroking the tiny chest as the damaged and undeveloped lungs struggled with every breath.  Warren sat on the floor at her feet, watching with innocent curiosity.

 "The physiological mutations are still present, but yes, he is human."

 "Will he recover from the shock?"  Remy asked, leaning back in the chair.

 "In time, he should."  Moira put a picture on the table, and Remy leaned over to gleam a better look.  It was a photograph of a back, Warren's back most obviously because of the heavy scarring, but Remy saw something above the right shoulder blade.  "Aye, ye see it then, too."

 "What is it?"  Remy asked, putting his fingers on the smudge.

 "Tis been getting progressively darker, and comparing pictures, I had the computer print out what it should eventually become."  Moira put the paper on the table next to the picture.  Remy's eyes went wide, and Emma peered over his shoulder.  "Ye all see it.  Ye all know what it is and what it means."

 "It's the mark of the Crimson Dawn."

****

 Emily Alison Braddock-Worthington.  Betsy smiled and stroked the tiny face, and the eyes opened, aware of the touch of her mother.  Emily because it was beautiful, and Alison in memory of her best friend from the days when she was still young and carefree.

 Betsy laid her hand on the small head and looked at the eyes, the irises a blue so pale they neared white.  Blind.  She had been blind once, but she had been telepathic, she had still seen the world.  The world was going to be so dark for her baby.

 Betsy looked up and met his eyes, seeing the utter emptiness of them.  He hadn't said a word to her, and his mind was so tightly locked she didn't dare to initiate her telepathy, but she knew that he was her Warren, the man she loved, even if the others were doubtful.

 But then there was the guilt, the shame over what she had done.  She hadn't meant to do it, she didn't think that she could have done it, but she knew, she knew because he had the touch of the Dawn on his back.  She had condemned him as greatly as she had ever been damned.

 She had done to him what he had done to her.

 They were even.

 But would he hate her?  When he finally realised, when he finally understood, would he turn against her and blame her for this, for his life?   Was their love strong enough to overcome the dark power of the Dawn?

 Biting her lip, she turned away from Warren then nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt him touch her, leaning his head against her thigh and looking up at her, his face haloed by long, golden hair, the bluest of eyes staring and answering her questions.

 Their love was greater than all of that.

****

 Sinister teleported into the depths of the Morlock tunnels with two clear missions in his mind.  First, he retrieved the decomposing bodies of his Marauders, transporting them directly to his new lab.  Unlike certain other people, his Marauders appreciated every resurrection they were given.  They accepted the gift.

 He knew by now that Worthington was alive again, which was in no way surprising.  It was inevitable.  The man would die a thousand deaths and never complete any of them, but the means of his rebirth surprised Sinister.  He hadn't thought Psylocke would disregard her lover so blatantly, hadn't thought she'd use the Crimson Dawn for an obviously selfish means.

 He chuckled.  What a cycle they were trapped in!

 His second mission was easier than the first.  He descended down a spiral staircase, his cape flowing grandly behind him, and he entered the room, smiling at the scene.  Removing several vials, he set to scraping samples of blood.

 It was, after all, all he had ever wanted.

****

 Apocalypse stood in the shadows, masked from the view of his wayward prodigy, letting him take his precious samples.  Sinister had not the brains in his head to understand the secrets Apocalypse hid in Worthington's genes, but Apocalypse allowed this collection of samples if only to keep Sinister busy, under watch, in one place where he could be observed, jailed, hunted.

 Apocalypse took one last look then vanished to return another day.

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