Release, Part Eighteen

by Tangerine

A week, he had lived another week. He was invigorated by the thought, joyed when his heart had felt only sorrow for so long. In a glorious truth, it meant he had survived another year. He had made it, alive though in pieces, to his twenty-sixth birthday.

Apocalypse had said he wouldn't make it to twenty-five without him, twenty- five! Warren could barely remember him uttering that prediction, but he knew it had been said, and he had proven Apocalypse wrong once more. It filled him with an odd sense of satisfaction, like he had somehow proven his worth with it. It had been his own private rebellion.

But Warren knew he'd never live to see twenty-seven. He doubted he would even live to see next week. If he did, then he was lucky, and if he didn't, then he was damned, but twenty-six was good enough for him. He was twenty-six years old!

"Luv? It's getting a bit nippy. Do you want a sweater?" Betsy called from the door into the garden, looking upon him oddly. Warren seemed almost giddy, and she could not help but think he had finally lost his wits. "Warren?"

"I'm fine, thank you," he replied quickly, swinging his legs as he sat on the stone bench. Betsy was mothering him, or smothering him, it depended on when Warren was asked, but he wasn't bothered by it. Right now, it made him ecstatic to know she cared.

Seconds later, Betsy returned with a sweater despite his response. "You're going to catch your death." Betsy's voice trailed off as she realised it should not have been said, but Warren seemed hardly to notice the comment. "Warren, is there something the matter?"

Warren shook his head, his eyes dancing with unspoken happiness. "And I've not gone insane either, if that's what your thinking, my love." He grinned as she sputtered in denial. "Ah, I caught you there, didn't I?"

"I thought nothing of the sort!" Betsy protested with a laugh, and Warren growled, grabbing her by the waist, spinning her around. She almost lost her balance and grabbed onto the metal veranda for support. "What are you doing?"

"We are dancing," he corrected, humming as he pulled her to him by the hips, moving slowly to a song only he could hear, "and I have not gone mad."

"You're doing little to convince me otherwise," Betsy muttered, placing her hands on his chest, and he took this as an opportunity to neck, burying his face deeply in her purple hair, sucking gently on her smooth flesh. These kisses were of love and purity, not of hate and deceit, like Candy's had been, like Candy, and this wasn't Candy, this was Betsy. She couldn't harm him, neither of them could.

"Warren, not that I don't love this, but what is wrong with you?"

"I'm twenty-six years old," Warren murmured in her ear, stroking her long tresses with his fingers. It felt so nice, so fantastically nice, so incredibly unlike Candy. "I'm twenty-six when Apocalypse said I wouldn't make it to twenty-five. I beat him, Betts, I beat him by a year."

Betsy's arms dropped to her side, and she pulled away, glaring at him in apparent disbelief. "This is what has you so overjoyed?"

Warren's face lost some expression and filled with disappointment instead. It was obvious, yet Betsy seemed unable to understand what he was feeling, but he couldn't explain it any other way. "When I have so little to look forward to, this is enough for me. He said I wouldn't be able to do it, but I did, long enough to make it count."

"But you'll die anyway."

"Don't you see? That doesn't matter! My life has fallen down to what I can do with what I have left. Though I likely won't live to see next month, it doesn't mean I can't take solace in the fact I lived to see another day." Warren paused, thinking of the best way to say all that he wanted to say. "I know I have to die, but filled with the knowledge I was given this last year to prove I was my own person, I feel nothing but joy, even though the story itself hasn't changed."

"I'll never understand you," Betsy muttered, shaking her head as she turned from him, and Warren moved behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me, Warren? How could you let me believe I could have a life with you if you knew it would all end?"

Warren's hand dropped away, and he crossed his arms, placing his palms on either shoulder. In that brief instant and with that harsh question, he had returned to his former self, the glory of his victory gone from his mind. He had expected she'd asked, he had feared it, but he knew she needed an answer, an explanation for his selfishness.

"It would have made it too real."

"And it wasn't real before?"

"Before, it was something he had told me, a twisted utterance from a madman I had no reason to believe. He told me I'd never be Warren Worthington again, but I am. He said I'd never regain my true wings, but I did. He said I couldn't live without him, but I was, Betts, I may not have been alive in the true and literal sense, but I was living."

"You should have told me without letting me believe a lie!"

"A lie I believed! Don't you see? I never thought he was telling the truth. It never even dawned on me until I began to notice I was changing, that I wasn't healing as I had in the past, and he had started after me again." Warren's head dropped a moment in desperation before it rose again. "With the wings, I thought I had truly beat him at his own game. My wings were real, so real, and though I didn't entirely know it, they were sustaining my life further than I could myself. I foolishly assumed that meant I was free.

"I was wrong."

"You should have told me!" Betsy repeated forcefully. "You should have told me everything at the beginning, so I could have decided for myself what I wanted, but now, it's too late, and the decision has been taken from me."

"And had you known, would you never have fallen in love with me?" Warren asked quietly, and Betsy looked away from his mournful expression. "No! No! You can't possibly expect me to believe it never would have turned out like this! I love you, and I know we were meant to be together. Nothing could have ever changed tha... ah..."

Warren suddenly dropped to the ground as if in slow motion to Betsy's eyes, falling to his knees and whimpering quietly in pain as the stress took its toll and the drugs wore off. The ache was nauseating in its effect, and Warren gaged slightly as he felt the bile rising in his stomach, twisting and screaming to be freed. It was taunting, the hurt was, for it always made him believe it had disappeared only to reveal itself at the worst of times.

Just when he thought he could bare no more, Betsy was there, holding him and murmuring soothing words, stroking his face with tender fingers. "No, no, I'd never let this escape. I don't care when it has to end, because without you, my life would have been worth nothing. I love you, and though loving you means I have more to lose, it also means I have a lot more to gain, Warren, a multitude more. Happy Birthday, luv, Happy Birthday."

* * *

It started raining late into the evening of the tenth day at Braddock Manor. Betsy had wandered upstairs for a bath, leaving several hints for Warren to help her prepare it, but he ignored each and every one of them. He wasn't ready to go there yet, he wasn't ready to touch her like she wanted, to let her touch him. The memories of what Candy had done were still too fresh in his mind.

Or is that really what he feared?

Betsy suspected something was up, Warren was sure of it. Perhaps she even knew what had happened, though she hadn't uttered a word to make him think so. He could handle a kiss on his cheek, a kiss to her warm lips if he initiated it, and if he could forget just for a second, he could touch her with a hug or a holding of hands, but it couldn't go beyond that, not yet.

But he wanted it to, oh God, how he wanted to love her.

Every night for the past week and a half he had relived that violating experience. He could have handled the wings. That wasn't the first time it had happened, and he knew what to expect, but this, this he had never had to live through this before, not consciously and so painfully aware. In his dreams, she was always there, pretending he loved her, playing games with his body while he was so unable to escape it. He hadn't wanted her to do that, and it had been so demeaning.

Just like the grotesque wounds the attack had left on his flesh, it had left him tainted.

"Warren?" Brian asked from the table at which he sat, placing his book down. Warren jumped at the intrusion, and Brian rose from his chair, walking slowly toward him. Pausing at a desk, he grabbed a handful of tissue and handed them to Warren.

Warren stared at the tissue, and brought a hand to his face, feeling the dampness on his cheeks. God, he was crying, he was crying when he hadn't even realised it, and he had betrayed his thoughts with the blasted tears.

Brian pushed them forward, and Warren finally took them, immediately turning away from the massive man's questioning face. Warren himself wasn't short, and he wasn't slender or thin either, but Brian was taller than he by at least four inches and was far, far larger than he was. In reality, Brian was quite overbearing and terrifying.

"How long is this going to go on?" Brian asked, eyeing the blueish man with a deep- rooted empathy. He, too, held secrets in him of hurt and violation.

"This is none of your business," Warren replied coldly, sparing him the dirtiest of looks as Brian invited himself to sit down on the couch Warren inhabited. Warren's eyes flared in anger, but Brian cut him off before he could utter a word.

"No, she may not see it, but I do. Betsy told me of what she saw that night. She was in tears and it took awhile to get it all out, but I know." Warren opened his mouth, but Brian cut him off again. "Don't hold that against her. We're twins; I would have forced it out of her eventually."

"Just where are you going with this?" Warren snapped, furiously trying to rid his face of the horrid tears. Damn them for being unable to stop!

Brian neared him dramatically. "You aren't the only one who's ever been hurt like that."

"What? Do other people get their wings hacked from the bodies on a regular basis? Now, that's surprising. I would have thought I was the only one to enjoy that privilege."

"God dammit, I'm not talking about that!"

Brian calmed down when he saw the other man shrink away from him, retreating back into the barren coldness of his mind. Meggan did it too whenever she didn't want to hear what he had to say, but he always made her listen, just like he would make Warren hear his words. "I'm talking about being hurt... sexually."

"What?!" Warren stumbled off the couch, turning toward Brian like an animal being hunted, and his eyes were wide and afraid while his skin had paled from a dull blue to almost grey. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Brian asked drably, looking wear and tired as he spoke with great pains, letting his eyes fall to look elsewhere. Warren stared at him for a minute, and Brian's eyes eventually rose to meet the glare. "Don't act so surprised, Warren. It happened, and I moved on. I doubt it was as traumatic as your experience, but it scarred me nonetheless. I made the decision to keep it from Meggan, my fiancee, and haven't uttered a word of it since, but maybe I should have."

Warren looked away, refusing to even acknowledge the man might be right.

Brian sighed deeply, realising he'd have to open more of his wounds to help heal Warren's gaping one. "It's not as uncommon as we'd all like to think it is, but that's the problem, Warren, we never talk about being assaulted. The more gruesome acts are more rare, but how often has one of the women been kissed? Touched? Fondled? Just because they're more likely to talk about it, don't mean it hasn't happened to a man and hurt him just as deeply."

Warren sat on the edge of the table, curling his fingers around it as he always did when he was uncomfortable. With a light whisper, he asked, "how did you know?"

"You have that look when you're by yourself and remembering, or around Betsy and trying to forget. When she touches you, you flinch, but you don't realise you do. When you touch her, it's gentle and careful and uncomfortable. You've been her lover for a year but can't bring yourself to go to her room when you wake up screaming. She drops hints, you ignore them, and you both know it. You deny it, especially when it's the truth, and you admit it, only when cornered. You cry, and you don't even realise it."

Warren blinked away the tears, for he understood and saw it, too. "Who was it?" Warren's voice cracked as he asked it, staring at his shoes as if he could somehow escape the look Brian gave him.

"Sat-Yr-9." Brian ran his hand through his long hair, closing his eyes for a moment. "She wanted sex, and I had no choice but to give it to her, but being the strong man I was, I went back to life as thought nothing had ever happened. I could have handled it had I not known her counterpart from this world, Courtney Ross. I remembered how Courtney had been, how I cared so much for her, and to see this stranger that looked exactly like her do that to me, it was horrible."

Brian rose from the chesterfield, meeting Warren face to face.

"I know it makes you feel less than human; I know it hurts to feel somebody touch you; I know it's hard to forget, but you have to move beyond it. You don't have enough time to fool yourself anymore, and I won't let you hurt my sister like that."

"But if she knows, and if she sees..." Warren's voice trailed off.

"If she knows, then everything will be better. She's stayed with you this long, and I don't think there's a force on this earth that can cast you two asunder. Your time is running out, Warren, remember that."

* * *

Warren stood outside the door to Betsy's room, pondering whether to knock or go right in. To knock would be informal, and informality had left their relationship months ago. To go directly in would be to open himself up to her, to say he wanted to be with her for all time.

Opening the door, he went into the dim domain.

Her clothes were scattered on the floor, and Warren smiled as he picked them up, folding them over a wooden chair. In the background, he heard a soothing melody being sung by Betsy as she bathed, the faint sound of water as it splashed against her body.

Warren walked to the doorway of the bathroom, being drawn by the resonance of the folk song. He loved Betsy's voice, for it was always able to soothe him. It was so beautiful, and he wished he could listen to it for eternity. Perhaps, he would.

Betsy turned in the bath, the warm water rocking in the tub at the sudden movement. She stared at Warren and opened her mouth, but he shook his head, bringing a finger to his lips. No words were needed between them anymore

Grasping the hem of his shirt, Warren pulled it over his head, wincing slightly at the small sting of pain.

Standing now only in jeans, he undid the button fly and pushed them and his briefs to the ground slowly, kicking his feet gently to be rid of them.

Breathing deeply and watching her dark purple eyes, he undid the knot that held the bandages around his chest. He let the cotton strips fall to the ground in a pile of white, sprinkling the ground like snow, and with the grace of a dancer, he turned away from her, showing her what he hadn't wanted her to see for a reason he no longer understood.

He spoke out to the wall with a soft whisper: "Touch me."

Betsy approached cautiously, forgetting about a towel or shirt to warm her wet and naked body, and she placed her hands on his back, below the stitched wounds. They were healing slowly, but the injury was still raw, still new. Laying her hands flat against his tightly muscle flesh, she kissed between his shoulder blades and kept her lips there, feeling the rigidness of his body slowly slip away into nothingness.

God, how wanted to tell her how he had been tainted, how it went beyond the wings to demented love, but he couldn't find the words. The ideas were there, the truth was begging to be freed, but he couldn't speak them. At this failing, he began to cry softly like a child, and it grew, the whimpers grew into sobs.

"I know, I know," Betsy hummed, bringing him to the ground. "You don't have to speak it, your mind has told me, it's told me everything, everything she did to you. I know, I know, don't be ashamed."

"I feel so dirty because of it, and it's like I betrayed you by having sex with her even though I begged her not do it, oh God, I begged her, but even then, in every second before it, I couldn't believe it was really happening.

"I never thought she'd rape me."

Warren whimpered, wrapping his arms around Betsy as she moved before him, stroking his head as it lay against her chest, allowing her breasts to be washed with his tears.

"She took so much, she took everything I had left from me, and I want it back. I want everything back that she stole, but I search and I search and I can't find it. It's as if a piece of me has been lost forever. It's like I really am dead, and I don't want to be! I want to live!"

Betsy held him tighter to herself, drawing him in where it was safe from the harsh world. Her hands moved over him, wiping away his tears, calming his wracking body. With gentle gestures, she urged him to cry, to let it all out, to release himself from the prison he was living in, the prison he had been living for a very long time.

It had started in his youth, and it had grown to become him, to become him but not overtake him. The real Warren was still there, hidden in a place that was happy. Betsy had seen glimpses of it, so she knew it was there. He just had to find it.

"Let it go, Warren, let it go, so we can be together now, especially where we are. Release the hate and the sadness, release every lie you've ever held inside yourself. Seek the Release, Warren, help me find it with you. I love you, oh God, I love you so much, but there isn't enough time left for you to heal properly. It has to be rushed, and I'm sorry for it."

And, though vaguely aware of it, he forgot the mask, and he forgot the prison, freeing himself, releasing himself into a place he hadn't seen before.

He had thought it would be hard to do, but it wasn't.

It took less than a simple thought and the unbreakable love of the woman he'd give his soul for, but he did it, and he got freedom in return. Release.

[next part]

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