Release, Part One

by Tangerine

Warren Worthington looked deep into his lover's eyes. He loved them, the warmth they emitted, the love he knew was also reflected in his own. He tenderly brushed a strand of her purple hair away from her beautiful face and smiled gently. He often wondered what he had done to have been blessed with someone like her.

Elisabeth Braddock, and she alone, had saved him from the misery and despair he had been living in. He thought he'd never be able to open his soul to anyone without them turning away in disgust, but she hadn't. Instead it had made their love stronger. He had never known love like this.

She intertwined her slender fingers with his and leaned against his strong chest, listening to the calming sound of his heart beating. They move slowly, sensually, across the floor, drawing the stares and gawks of all in the uptown restaurant. They were used to the looks they got; they expected them.

The music was slow and soothing, stealing them away from their everyday worries and fears. The vocalist was soft-spoken but with the voice of an angel. The chime and cries of the strings accompanying her only made the tone more beautiful and fantastical.

But soon the music ended and the couple returned back to their seats. Warren picked up the glass of champagne and raised it slightly in toast. "To you, my love, to us." She smiled and gently clinked his glass, before bringing it slowly to her red lips.

"Should we call it a night?" He asked, sipping the final drops of the refreshing drink. "Perhaps, wander home to a more private party." He raised his blond eyebrows in suggestion, his ice blue eyes twinkling playfully.

"A private party, eh? Consider this my RSVP," Betsy whispered, pulling his across the table and kissing him gently on the lips. She pulled away with a smile and stood, her satin dress cloaking her tall, lean body like liquid. Warren offered her his arm, muttering to the waiter to put the night on his tab as they left.

They entered the dark street, arms entangled, walking slowly. Though the hour late, they didn't worry about being mugged in Manhattan. They had both been trained to fight super human villains. A few muggers would not likely be a problem.

They reached the area of Soho where they lived, and Warren quickly fished out his keys, letting them into the building. Betsy quickly pulled him into the elevator, and he entered the security codes to the penthouse as the elevator began to move upwards. The doors hissed open, and Warren unlocked the apartment. Betsy stole a pinch on the way in, and he turned to join in the playfulness before tripping over backwards.

"Ah," he swore before a stream of curses flew from his mouth. He hit the ground heavily, knocking something breakable to the floor. It shattered loudly, and he felt immediate pain course through his arm. "Ouch," he declared through the darkness, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity.

Betsy flipped on the lights, and he could tell from her expression, she way trying desperately hard not to laugh at him. He lay sprawled on his back, left leg tangled in a box, the other lying limply beside the culprit.

"You really know how to set that romantic atmosphere, luv," Betsy chuckled lightly. "I don't think anybody has ever tried to woo me in such an unique, and obviously painful, fashion. Personally, I'm flattered."

"You laugh now, but I may be too sore to be of service to you later on," he joked dryly, stumbling to his feet. His eyes went wide as he saw the full extent of the damage. "My vase! That thing cost me a fortune. Sure, I bought it out of pity for the artist, but come on, I paid good money for that monstrosity!" He reached down to pick the shattered pieces up, and noticed his hand. "Where's all this blood coming from?" He asked stupidly, suddenly aware of the warm fluid rushing from a cut on his hand.

"Warren!" Betsy exclaimed, grabbing a towel from the kitchen. She rushed over to him and wrapped his hand tightly, trying to stop the flow of crimson. He looked a bit pale, so she lead him to the couch. "Bloody hell, do you always bleed this much?" She asked, racing to get another piece of cloth. She returned seconds later with a much larger towel. She held his hand in hers, gaping at the severity of the wound.

"I'll be okay," Warren assured her, petting her arm weakly. "It's just a cut. I've been cut before. I'll be fine."

"You don't sound fine. Should I take you to the hospital? You might need stitches," Betsy suggested calmly.

"No!" Warren declared in sudden horror, "no hospitals, please, no hospitals."

"Warren, you're being irrational. There's too much blood here. You shouldn't be bleeding this much from a wound in the hand. Do you have some blood condition I don't know about? Are you a hemophiliac?"

"I'm fine," he insisted, "I just bleed a lot more than other people. I'm okay, now. See, the bleeding's stopped, I'm okay." He pulled off the towel and pointed to the wound, which barely seemed much of a wound at all anymore. Betsy gaped at it and tried to spit out words, but it all came out in one gargled sound.

"How the hell did you do that?" Betsy demanded, pointing at his hand. She tried hard to sound calm, but Warren could hear the real tone she used, the 'liar' tone. She used it on him whenever he, however unintentionally, withheld information from her.

"You ever wonder why I always seem to come out of things untouched? I'm usually the first one down in battle, being burnt, shot, ripped apart, punched, thrown into whatever's around, but I rarely even see the infirmary. I heal, pretty quickly if the wound isn't very large. When Sabretooth ripped my metal wings, they couldn't heal themselves, so I started getting sick. Now, I'm not exactly sure about anything that follows that, but that's besides the point. I never meant to keep this from you. I guess, it just never came up."

"It never came up?" Warren winced at the screech, knowing immediately how mad she must be. "You scared the bloody daylights out of me. I thought you were going to bleed to death, and it never came up?! I've never seen so much blood come from one person's hand in my life, and it never bloody well came up?!"

"Come on, Betsy, you can't get angry about this. What was I supposed to say, 'Oh, hey, don't mind me the next time I bleed. I'm a quick healer?' That's not the type of thing you talk about. It's like me telling you I have three lungs over brunch."

"You have three lungs?" She repeated, in bewilderment.

"Well, sort of, the third one's there for flying only, and it's not as big as the other two, but that isn't the point!" He declared, throwing his hands in the air. He breathed in deeply, and walked over to her. He hugged her tightly, kissing the top of her purple head in an attempt to accost the possible fight that was brewing. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"It's okay, Warren. I suppose it makes up for the time I hopped out of the shadows to surprise you," she confessed, smiling into his chest. He chuckled lightly, remembering that particular day.

"Well, it was nice gesture, though I wish you would have waited until I had come out of the shower to do it. Trying to explain to Bobby why I screamed like a frightened school girl for no apparent reason was an unfortunate situation I would have rather avoided."

"Speaking of showers, I suddenly feel like having one myself," she said coyly, unbuttoning shirt with delicate fingers. She pushed the silk cloth off his skin, undoing to the harness she was beginning truly to hate to free his white, feathered wings.

"Would you mind some company?" He asked, swooping her up into his arms. She squealed and wrapped her toned arms around his neck. She smiled and kissed his shoulder with warm lips, a sign of things to come.

"Not at all, Mr. Worthington, not at all."

* * *

The phone rang too loudly for such an early hour. The shrill squeal was far too severe for Warren's sensitive ears, and he sleepily looked around the room, wondering if a pig was being slaughtered nearby.

"The baby's crying, dear. It's your turn," Betsy muttered, shoving him out of the bed. He gawked at her, realising she was still asleep, and he couldn't help but wonder what exactly she was dreaming about.

He slipped out of bed, and got down on his hands and knees, knowing the phone was around there somewhere. The ringing persisted in an annoying shrill, and he tried to follow the sounds to wherever the receiver lay hidden. By the third ring, he knew he was getting closer. He reached into a box labelled kitchen, wondering why it was in the bedroom, and pulled out the cordless.

"'Ello?" He mumbled, leaning back against the wall as he pulled his wings tightly to his body. They shielded him from the cold of the wall and provided ample support all at once.

"I'm gonna kill ya mutie!"

"Excuse me? I don't think I heard that last comment. Are you from Avon? If you are, I had a horrible reaction to the hypo-allergenic cream you were selling. It seems my skin turned an odd shade of blue."

"I'm gonna kill you and that pretty girlfriend of yours, too. When ya least expect it, I'm gonna shot ya both down with my rifle, then string ya up like raw chicken for all to see and laugh."

"Indeed. Mind if I ask you one thing?"

"Didn't ya hear ya stupid mutie? I said I'm gonna kill ya!"

"Yes, yes, I heard. What I'd like to know is how you got this phone number. Can you ask somebody that?" Warren knew this was probably a bad approach, but it was too early, and this bigot had just about ruined his morning.

"I'm gonna kill ya!"

"That wasn't my question. Last I checked, I was unlisted, and I'm an avid supporter of free speech, as you obviously are, but it's far too early for a battle such as this over the phone. You're abusing your rights as an American citizen."

"I'm gonna kill ya, mutie!"

"Well, I'll see you then. Goodbye." Warren hung up and smiled. That had been surprisingly fun, and yes, his mood had been slightly dampened, but he felt astoundingly refreshed. He climbed back into bed and nuzzled Betsy's neck.

"Who was that charming caller?" She murmured, smiling.

"Beats the hell out of me, some idiot member of the FOH probably, spewing death threats. Remind me to get that number changed," he retorted, kissing along her shoulders. She shivered, goose bumps tickling their way across her skin.

"Glad to see whoever it was didn't put you in a bad mood." Betsy laughed and flipped him over, so she was leaning over him, which was no mean feat with a man possessing a sixteen- foot wingspan. They looked deep into each others eyes, the passion silently mounting. Had there ever been two people more in love?

[next part]

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