Release, Part Eight

by Tangerine

"Warren?" The voice above him said soothingly as he blinked once then twice then a third time, letting the bursts of light he saw form into real shapes. In his confusion, he had thought it was Betsy who spoke to him like an angel, but it wasn't. The voice belonged to Candy, who had her hand against his face tenderly. "How are you feeling?"

"Horrible," Warren managed to mumble through the fog the headache created, making it impossible to think without incredible pain. He sat up, almost being knocked back down by the torture every movement caused his body. "Betsy? Where's Betsy?"

Candy's face dimmed for barely a second before she responded, still holding onto his hand. "She's sleeping, Warren, but Hank said she should wake any time. He also says you'd be dead of she hadn't taken the brunt of the attack herself."

Warren let the terrible words sink in. "That was only a small part of it?" He finally asked, thanking God the thousandth time in the last week for having given him Betsy. She had saved his life so many times already, and to do this for him, he loved her more for it. "Will she be okay?"

Candy nodded. "Hank says she was only stunned. Jean took a small part of the hit, and the aspirin seems to work for her headache."

"Good," Warren hummed, massaging one very sore wing with his hand.

"Do you want something for the pain?" Candy asked as Hank entered. Hank raised an inquisitive eyebrow, immediately heading to the medicine cabinet as Warren nodded slowly, closely his azure eyes for a brief second. He looked up to see Candy handing him some pills and a glass of water. "Here."

He swallowed them quickly, hoping the affect was quick and numbing. It wasn't, so the pain would have to last a few minutes more. He twitched his feathered appendage once, testing it, and the movement sent shots of pain through his body. He bit his lip and fought back the scream, settling on a subdued and forced, "God, is my wing okay?"

Hank frowned, scuttling over to examine it. He poked at it with clawed fingers, and Warren closed his eyes to the agony. He had hurt his wings before, but they'd alway healed quickly. Something horrible was wrong, and Warren fought what he feared to be the truth from his mind. "Where does it hurt, my ill-feathered friend?"

Warren moaned as Hank touched his hand to the feathery, white appendage again, running his palms across the bone, tweaking the flesh experimentally. "Everywhere, Hank. It hurts to move it, but even the slightest touch kills."

Beast dropped his hand away at the comment, sparing Warren further injury. "I believe you may have sprained it," Hank murmured, noticing a slight bruise forming on the left one as it twitched uncontrollably. "It's not broken, I can ascertain that much to ease your worries."

Warren nodded mutely, tousling his blond hair with his free hand.

"Warren," Hank started, using a gentle tone and a calm approach. He couldn't risk Warren going off like the unpredictable time bomb he was, so he had to be especially careful in how he said it. "Though I am your doctor, I am more importantly asking you this as your friend. It took us two hours to calm you down enough that your brain could start protecting its self."

Simple words for a simple mind, Warren thought as Hank droned on.

"For the entire time you screamed only four sentences over and over again: 'Get out of my mind, you can't have me, I won't give myself back to you, and I'll never be yours again.' Betsy continued to repeat these phrases for another hour before she was finally able to stop the telepathic assault. As a friend, I am asking for an explanation."

Warren blinked as he looked wearily at Hank, one his oldest friends. He deserved an answer better than the one he was going to give everybody else. "I don't know what there is to explain. I'm living on borrowed time, Hank. He wants me back, has wanted me back since I left, but I've been able to stop him with little difficulty... up until now."

"This has happened before?" Hank inquired, aware of the unusually quiet Candy as she sat with what he could have sworn to be a smile on her pretty face. He shook it off, for Candy must be remembering something that could heighten her spirits so.

"The mental demands? No. That only happened for the first time yesterday." Warren paused, a stabbing pain darting through his shoulder. "But it's been other things, smaller things, crazy things. He's sent me letters by registered mail, for crying out loud!"

Despite the dire circumstances, Hank smiled as the idea of Apocalypse going out of his way to actually write Warren a memo. "And the wings, do you think they have something to do with his recent threats?"

Warren paused pensively before shrugging briefly, the massive wings rising and falling swiftly with the sudden movement. Warren winced again, almost toppling over as his injured wing punished him for his carelessness. "I couldn't tell you. Perhaps he's toying with me, I don't know, but it could have something to do with him.

"I don't know what you're expecting from me here, Hank, he doesn't tell me anything, and even if he did, I'd tell somebody. I have learned to live the life I have been given one day at a time. If I live to see tomorrow, then that's great. If I don't, well, I lose. Hank, if I pay any more attention to this than I have the letters, then he's already won. I want to live, and I will, but that involves me living through anything he might do to stop me. That involves me having to live in spite of it all."

* * *

It was late when they finally returned home to the Soho apartment. Candy had been unusually silent for the entire trip in the car, sitting in the back like a spiteful child. Betsy paid little cognisance to her, instead focussing her efforts on getting Warren to pay attention to the road. She could drive, and Warren wouldn't let her near his precious Ashton Martin, not with her horrible driving record and her lack of an American license.

Elisabeth sighed inwardly, realising the time would come when she would have to... apply for American citizenship. Since she was on an extended leave of absence from the team, she had to learn to live in the real world. Warren had convinced her, in a fit of passion when she'd agree to just about anything he asked, to help him rebuild Worthington Enterprises. But to work, she had to be citizen.

"Warren!" Betsy cried out suddenly, grabbing the wheel and turning it slightly. "Pay attention, luv, or we'll all going to end up in traction."

Candy laughed suddenly at the comment, saying nothing but smiling smugly to herself. Warren shook it off, sharing a look with Betsy, before pulling into his parking spot. The car, sleek and expensive, stopped gently. Warren stepped out, waiting for the women to exit, then activated the security system to protect the silver car.

They walked up silently like a funeral march, single lined and slow. Warren unlocked the apartment, stepping into the darkened space. "Is anybody hungry? I can make something."

"I think I'll go to bed," Candy said, whisking herself away to the spare bedroom, sparing neither a lingering look or a good night.

Once she was out of view, Betsy immediately established their mental link. *So, Hank says it's really her?* She couldn't keep the sense of disappointment out of her voice. Like Warren, she had been hoping for a con, but as usual, it wasn't that simple.

Warren sighed, buttering a couple slices of bread slowly. *That what he says, but I don't know what to believe anymore. I believed she was dead, twice, and now she's not. She gives no explanation, and she acts like I killed her mother.*

*She sounds like you,* Betsy said slowly, watching Warren's face for a reaction, *when you came back from Apocalypse.*

Warren dropped a spoonful margarine into the pan, his wings sinking slightly despite his efforts to kept his wounded one stationary. *Was I really that bad? Is that what you all thought of me when I spoke or when you saw me, the way I'm feeling about Candy right now?*

Betsy placed her hands on his shoulders, being careful of the bruised wing as she did. *When you rejoined the team, I'll admit that you were cold and inclusive and terribly depressed. We all knew enough to stay away from you until you worked it through on your own. Jean suggested psychiatric help, and a lot of the others did, too.*

*They did?* Warren blinked, surprised they'd even care and angry they'd be discussing this behind his back. It was his life, his alone, and to even think they thought they had any right to try and decide what was right for him, without asking Warren himself, enraged the long buried bitterness he had felt during that horrid time in his life.

Betsy nodded, sitting back down at the table. *They did, but there were others that understood you had to do it on your own. I knew then you would not likely appreciate their interference, but I wasn't the one who first stood up for your right to privacy.*

Warren stared intently at the grilled cheese sandwich he was preparing, careful of how he cooked it. He had a tendency to royally muck things up, and cooking was no exception. *May I ask who it was?*

Betsy looked straight at him. *Actually, luv, it was Gambit, supported by Rogue, Logan, me... and Bobby.*

*Bobby?* Warren repeated, bringing the sandwiches to the table. *Why him? Why Remy for that matter? Or any of the others? Why would you stick up for me when I hadn't ever done anything for you? I know back then I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around, so why would you risk going against Scott, or Jean, or even the Professor?*

Betsy poked at the grilled cheese with a finger. *Because they weren't suggesting just a doctor to tend to you, they were suggesting a complete mental examination, and I couldn't let them violate you that way because if I did, I'd be giving them permission to do the very same thing to me. Rogue and Remy did it for the same reason. Logan told me later when I asked him why he'd done it, and he said that he knew that deep down you were still the same person, that you just needed to get control of your life again, and then you'd be okay.*

Warren nodded, for as time passed, he realised he'd been wrong about Logan in his idiot youth. Logan was more a man than he'd ever be, and to find out he stuck up for him even after the way he had treated Wolverine, Warren respected him even more. *Okay, but why Bobby?*

Betsy shrugged. *I don't know. I never asked him.* Warren let that lay as it was. If he ever thought he needed to know, he'd ask Bobby himself. "Warren, luv, I don't mean to insult your cooking, but are you aware you forgot the cheese?"

Warren looked at his own sandwiched, realising he'd forgotten the main ingredient of his fabulous feast. "God, I can't take my inability to cook anymore. I'm going to bed." Warren smiled suddenly. "You coming?"

"I'll be there in a second," she promised, and he nodded, walking to their bedroom, pausing for a second to look at Candy's closed door before entering. He turned on the light and closed the blinds. This high up he knew he didn't have to really worry about peeping Toms. Very few apartments could see into his, and he was glad of it. So long as he remained concealed, he wouldn't have to hide in his own home. He could be Warren Worthington, blue-skinned and winged.

He swore softly, wrestling with the shirt he was wearing as it caught on his injured wing. Bending his arms behind his back, he untangled the mess of clothing and finished undressing. In the full length mirror, his nude figure scoffed back at him. There had been a time when he couldn't stand to look in a mirror. All mirrors he owned, he smashed with his fists while hallucinating severely. It had not been the first time he had ever dipped into the darker world of illegal drugs and alcohol, but it had been the only time he ever truly lost control. It had been three weeks after Apocalypse and the first time he actually looked at himself and what he had become. He had not taken it well.

But now, two years later, it wasn't so hard to take anymore. So he'd never be centerfold material again, he could live with that. If one could see past the blue skin, he was still good looking. Betsy swore she saw beyond what he saw himself, that she thought he was beautiful in body as well as mind, but he wasn't sure if he believed her. The blue twisted everything about him, making him appear dark and evil, or had he always been like that? He had asked himself that so many times before, and he never found an answer that satisfied him.

Amidst his thoughts, a strange song began to play, quiet and mysterious like a dream. Unaware he had even closed his eyes, he opened them to the suddenly very dark room. He stayed where he was, feeling warm breath travel across his flesh as goosebumps followed the path.

The music was like a snake, moving slowly and entwining around him. The words were sensual, yet serious, and he was drawn in by the melody. His breath came in synch with the sound, away of Betsy behind him, teasing him while dancing to the euphony.

He turned in her arms, pulling her tightly to him as they kissed passionately, and in the dark, appearances no longer mattered to him. Love had been left in the aftermath of his doubts, and he believed every word she had ever spoke to him.

Desperate to take
Lost in its wake
Time slips away too soon

Pleasures of fear
Drawing us near
Where could we go from here

Waste what we want
We beg and we're bought
And nothing is wrong with us.

[next part]

back to Tangerine's stories | X-Men archive | comicfic.net