Subject: [OTL]: (alt. Psylocke/Angel) Twist of the Feather (PG-15; angst, imagery) Date: Mon, 7 Jun 2004 14:55:22 -0700 (PDT) From: Phil Hartman will1@earthling.net Twist of the Feather by Phil Hartman DISCLAIMER: They're mostly Marvel's, except for Jake and Jesse, who are mine. It's all fiction. No money is being made off of this. Etc. WARNING: Momentary graphic imagery and loads of angst ... NOTE: AU - Vargas failed to kill Betsy, Warren never got together with Paige Guthrie, Jean is still very much alive, etc. ... part of the unnamed arc I've got going on right now. Continuity: Immediately after Oneiric Dissertations leaves off ... ------------------------------------------------------- 9/6/2003: Xavier Institute for Paragenetic Studies: 20:00 hrs EDT: ------------------------------------------------------- She'd never been so empty. #He just ... left. It wasn't like before, when we cut our ties with razor-edged words ... or he cut them. He wants to 'protect' me from being hurt by him again. It hurts bloody worse WITHOUT him ...# Elizabeth Braddock, all of 41 and in incredible pain, stretched out on her bed in a T-shirt and sweat pants. Her long purple hair stretched out behind her onto the pillow, while the shadows in the room twitched under her restrained power over the Crimson Dawn. The corresponding red tattoo over her left eye seemed to move of its own accord, ignoring the tears coming from its owner's eyes. #What the hell am I doing, pining over Warren? He left me in May, and I fell in love with Neal Shaara. Quickly. Very quickly,# the British psi in a Japanese woman's body thought, wiping her face as she sat up. The images of her ex-boyfriend, Warren Worthington the Third - blue-faced, with buzzed blond hair, a scruffy moustache and an absurd goatee, his white-feathered wings flowing from his back - clashed with those of her current beau. The dark-faced, brown-eyed Neal Shaara was everything Warren had not been - attentive, gentle, open. The Hindu plasma generator had been a member of the X-Men since 2001, but had been a polite, if distant, teammate of Betsy's until Warren had broken up with her unexpectedly. #Then Warren talks about wanting me back after Vargas beats me within an inch of my life. Neal was there from the start, trying to protect me ... but not cage me. One would think a man with the codename 'Angel' would know better than to demand his signifcant other be a submissive little housewife,# Betsy thought, a scowl crossing her face. #So why do I miss Warren? Neal is so much better for me ... or am I just trying to convince myself of that?# She sat up and telekinesed a box of tissues to her hand from her nightstand, a faint smile crossing her face. After a bizarre mutagenetic accident had taken place in 2001, during the X-Men's final battle with Apocalypse, Betsy's powers had changed from telepathy and precognition to a potent telekinetic ability. #The bloody Crimson Dawn is the same, though - shadow teleportation, some Darkforce manipulation ... not that I dare risk using that too often. Warren saved me then - and later on, from Tar ...# Betsy reminisced as she dried her eyes. "Why am I bloody well moping? Warren dumped me twice now, and I'm in here, sitting on my arse, talking to myself, when there's a perfectly wonderful 20-something Hindu hunk moping around for ME downstairs," Betsy chided herself. She stood, then shadowported to the kitchen, where Neal was working on some vegetarian dish. He smiled tentatively at Betsy, who kissed him deeply on the lips and hugged him to her. "I'm sorry, Neal. I don't know why in the hell I'm even giving Worthington a second thought. You've been here for me every second since Warren left me and you and I joined Ororo's team," Betsy said. "Betsy ... I don't expect you to just forget about Warren overnight. You shared five years together. We've had only five months. I know you love me, and I love you. I don't want to be some immature, jealous brat who acts tough and whines every time you think or talk about Warren," Neal said, stroking Betsy's cheek. Betsy sniffled a little and hugged Neal again. "Are you sure you're not an angel yourself?" she whispered into his neck. "I've been blessed with one, so I can't possibly be an angel. I do have impure thoughts about kicking Warren's ass, after all. And ... others ... about doing things with you ..." Neal trailed off, a smile coming to his lips. He and Betsy began kissing again, until a cough made them both blush. "I gather you're feeling better, Betsy," Scott Summers said, walking in from the hallway with a small red-haired boy on his shoulders. Jesse Summers giggled, then let his father set him down on his feet and beamed up at Betsy and Neal. "Much, Scott, thank you. Hello, Jesse. You've grown quite a bit," Betsy said, speaking clearly so the 3-year-old could read her lips. "Thanks, Aunt Betsy. I'm glad you're OK," Jesse replied, enunciating in a precise, if rather squeaky, voice. "You're up late, Jesse. Can't sleep?" Neal asked - the boy was a good kid, even if he'd pointed out a rather unsettling truth the other day when the "X-treme" X-Men had teleported back to the Mansion from Spain. Jesse shook his head, then looked at Scott and said, "Daddy's been helpin' me with my powers. I'm gonna go to bed soon." "Ah," Neal said, turning back to his cooking - at least, until Jesse tugged on his pants leg. "Uncle Neal, why did Uncle Warren go away? Did you and he fight?" Jesse asked. Neal blushed, but Betsy picked Jesse up and ruffled his red hair before smiling at him. "Uncle Warren and I had a fight, Jesse. He was afraid that he'd hurt me if we stayed together. But I'm with Uncle Neal now. Is that all right?" she asked. Jesse squinted, as Scott walked over with two glasses of milk and some cookies. "Yeah, it's OK. Uncle Neal's nice, too. Where's Uncle Warren, though?" Jesse asked. Betsy sighed and gave the boy a tired smile. "I honestly don't know, Jesse. Here - you'd better go with your father. You have a good night, both of you," she said, setting Jesse down. The little boy waved, smiling again as he tagged along behind Scott and they headed for the boathouse. Over his shoulder, Scott called, "Betsy ... thanks for indulging him. Jesse cares a lot, but sometimes he doesn't realize that people want to avoid certain topics." "He's only 3, Scott. At least he asked politely. I'd rather have an innocent line of questioning from a little boy than have Robert pouting at me," Betsy tried to laugh. Scott nodded, then continued after Jesse, who was yelling something about "Look, Daddy! Feathers!" "Hmm. I didn't think birds molted this time of year," Neal pondered. Betsy nodded absently, something gnawing at her gut besides the curry she'd tasted on Neal's lips. "Neal, dear, make me another plate, will you? Between rehab and my self-pity, I'm famished. I'll be back in a moment," Betsy asked her boyfriend. Neal nodded, watching as Betsy shadowported out to where Scott and a glowing Jesse were kneeling on the ground. "These are feathers, but ..." Scott said, trailing off as Betsy emerged from the shadow Jesse's photokinetic glow was giving off. She smiled gratefully at the boy, then dropped to one knee and picked up one of the feathers. "Oh bloody hell," Betsy whispered, looking at Scott with a fearful expression. "They are Warren's, aren't they?" Scott breathed. Jesse gulped, and his father winced a bit as the small boy watched the adults closely. "I'm sure they're just ... extras. He's been known to molt, also. Let me take them to Henry, just to be sure, or Cecilia if Henry's still working on his fine motor control," Betsy said. She gathered up the feathers, then waved as Scott and Jesse continued on towards the Summers' boathouse. Then she shadowported, her heart in her throat. #Warren never molted unless he was ill,# Betsy reminded herself. ------------------------------------------------------- Worthington Industries Headquarters, Manhattan: ------------------------------------------------------- He sat, a fifth of Scotch in one hand and his head in the other, on the backless chair. A trail of feathers led in from the balcony to the refrigerator, then to the chair. A few droplets of blood and another substance were mixed in with the feathers, while moonlight illuminated what had been proud, strong wings. Their bone structure was suffused with hideous, pulsing black spots, some oozing the same dark substance mixed in with the blood. #I don't want her here. I don't want her to see me like this,# Warren Worthington the Third thought, sipping his Scotch. Another feather spiraled to the floor, followed by a drip of that same, death-smelling black substance. The glass became a little more empty in response, as moonlight glinted off of buzzed blond hair barely covering a scalp stretched tight against frail bones. An image inducer lay broken on the balcony, along with a medical report. And the glass became a little more empty. ------------------------------------------------------- Xavier Institute: 20:15 hrs EDT: Medlab: ------------------------------------------------------- "Oh. Oh God. Oh dear God ..." "Henry?" Betsy asked, watching her once apelike and now leonine, blue-furred teammate recheck the scan results on the feathers she'd brought to him. Henry McCoy - still the Beast, but even bigger and more feral-appearing than before - looked at Betsy with an expression of pure agony. "Elizabeth ... Betsy. These feathers did not just molt by themselves. There are traces of ... gangrene ... at the tips. And metastasized cells," Hank beathed, fighting back tears. "Warren's wings, at the very least - and most likely his entire body, judging from the damage - are afflicted with a Stage Four cancer. I should have noticed SOMETHING -" "You were with us for the past five months, Henry. Don't blame yourself. Warren's always been very good at maintaining the party-boy facade. He hates ruining others' good times ..." Betsy rambled, wiping her eyes. She sensed - with a flicker of her old precognition, maybe? - Neal's presence at the doorway, before she turned to face him. He stood there, in his T-shirt and jeans and "Kiss the Cook" apron, holding two plates of curry rice, a crestfallen expression flickering across his dark face for a moment. Then, Neal smiled sadly and said, "Go." Betsy shook herself out of the reverie and blinked at him. "Go?" she asked, trying to think of where Neal was talking about. "Betsy ... go to him. If it's Stage Four, then he might ... Vishnu forbid ... have gone to be alone to ... die. You shared five years of your lives. He needs someone beside him ... and I won't hold you here when you obviously care for him deeply," Neal said, swallowing loudly on the last words. "Neal ... but we ... you and I ..." Betsy trailed off; the last thing she wanted to do was hurt the person who had been there for her, who had helped her through the pain Warren had put her through before. "Betsy. I'll be here. Warren might not have the night left to him, if things are as dire as Hank says. I WILL wait for you," Neal insisted. Betsy kissed him, then shadowported. Hank watched her depart, then looked at Neal with cats'-eyes and what the Hindu thought was supposed to be a friendly smile - he was reminded of a tiger, but he wasn't about to hurt Hank's feelings by saying so. "Neal Shaara, you are a decent man. Never let anyone tell you otherwise," Hank said. "Thanks, Hank. Care for curry rice?" Neal tried to joke. "Thanks, but no. Warren might have given up on himself, but there are at least three other people on these grounds besides us who are definitely not ready to let him go. I'll take you up on that rice some other time," Hank said as he grabbed a medical bag and raced from the lab. #I try to be decent, Hank. But my heart is screaming at me to fight for Betsy ...# Neal thought, starting to nibble on the rice as his appetite ebbed. #But how do you fight a man who was Death, and for whom Death has come?# ------------------------------------------------------- She fought back a gasp at the stench of death and putrescence in the apartment as she emerged from shadow. #My God. It must have exploded overnight. How could he be so FOOLISH as to let this go so long!? How could he push me away like that when he knew that I'd die to save him from this?!# Betsy thought angrily as she walked over to the winged, slumped form sitting in the middle of the room. "Oh, damnit. You found the feathers," Warren muttered - slurred speech, Betsy realized with a fresh spike of anger. "You dull-witted imbecile. I LOVED you - you risked your life for me twice - and you broke up with me at the one time when you needed me most!? My God, you're the third bloody Summers brother - WARREN!?" Betsy ranted, the last word becoming a shriek as she turned on a light. He looked ... gaunt, like one of Death's victims from a painting of the Black Plague during the Middle Ages. His blue skin, once vital, was pale, and stretched against bones that showed through his bare chest. The wings were what made Betsy want to run - hideous, shriveled things, almost featherless and shot through with tumors and dripping black pus that could not be natural. "'Behold, I am Death, Ravager of Worlds.' 'Cept, the 'miracle' of my wings coming back was bullshit, Betts. I think it's a failsafe of Nur's - he didn't want his 'highest horseman' to live on if he croaked, I guess," Warren chuckled, his voice becoming a hacking cough on the last few words. "I-if it started in the wings - what about treatment? Warren, why let this go on?" Betsy pleaded, dropping to her knees before him and taking one withered hand in hers. "You know the hell I went through when that bastard Hodge ordered my first wings hacked off? Better to die alone and not hurt anybody else. I'm too damn prideful - a fallen angel at last, I guess. I didn't want to drag you down with me. You are an angel, in your own way, you know," Warren rambled. "Warren ... you bloody ... I would have stood by you until the end! You pushed me away so I could be emotionally gutshot when you die!? What bloody sense does that make!? I love you, you stupid, stupid man!" Betsy sobbed, hugging Warren and ignoring his atrophied, tainted body. He sobbed himself, then held onto her, as the door was blasted open by an optic beam and icepacks were applied to his wings and sad red psionic flame enveloped them both. The last thing Betsy heard was, "She said WHAT!?" ------------------------------------------------------- #I said, 'I love you.' Oh, bloody hell.# Betsy awoke - incredibly tired, and wearing an inhibitor collar, for some reason - in a medbed in the medlab. She looked around, seeing Neal asleep in a chair beside her, and looked over to where she somehow knew - - he was back. No longer gaunt - not himself, certainly, but not the death-riddled drunken shadow he'd been earlier, with a fuller face and body, and bandaged wings that were somehow saved from the cancer - Warren lay on his back, asleep. #Thank God. Must've been a mutant healer or some Shi'ar technology Henry used,# Betsy thought, reaching up to unhook the collar - - and wincing as her mind flooded with voices, until she grabbed onto long-unused skills and rebuilt her mindshield with ease. "Oh bloody hell," Betsy said, more loudly, as Neal awoke. "Betsy. Thank Rama. You ... somehow, the shock of ... your telepathy's been restored," Neal said, standing beside her and taking the collar from her. His tension and loss and relief hit Betsy like a slap to the face, until she squeezed Neal's free hand. "No telekinesis. Interesting dynamic. Neal -" Betsy began, biting her lip - how was she going to explain this? He kissed her hand, then her forehead, and managed a weak smile as his emotions sank before her empathic sense. "No. Bloody hell, Neal, don't you dare. It - you don't have to be so bloody noble! I don't owe him anything, and neither do you! He almost died on me tonight, and -" Betsy rambled, stopping herself. #He almost died on me. Implying I still ... oh, God ...# "Betsy. In all of these months - and Ganesha knows I'm not trying to be a hypocrite - have we ever been more than very good friends? I love you, but ... I can talk to you. I can talk with you. And the same way - but it's talk. We touch, we kiss ..." Neal trailed off, wiping at his eyes. "Neal ..." Betsy breathed, swallowing hard. "... but we've never consummated this. And maybe that's best. You are my dear, dear friend. But that's all we've been - and that's wonderful. That's very special, and I will never betray your confidences or turn from you," Neal continued. "But you and Warren ... Betsy, you don't have to run anymore. You've seen past his defenses. He can't fly away - sorry, very bad taste - and you can't hide from any of this. We can't. And I will not be the type of man who indulges in destroying a relationship that is only going through a dark time." Neal released her hand and wiped her cheek, then smiled sadly at her before looking at Warren. "You will have your dawn, Betsy Braddock, with your angel. But I'm not that man. I will always be here for you, but I will not be the cause of you spending the rest of your life asking 'what might have been,'" Neal insisted, looking back at Betsy. She wanted to scream - to break his psi-screens, such as they were - but she couldn't. She wouldn't do that to her - #Friend,# Betsy realized, admitting deep down that what she had with Neal wasn't what she had with Warren, even now. All she could do was accept a box of tissues, and look over at Warren, and see her cradled in his arms as they flew through his dreamscape. "Oh, you absolute bloody idiot," Betsy whispered, blowing her nose before looking at Neal. "You know. I know. He knows, and hopefully he'll wake up and get it through his thick head that he is the luckiest man on this planet. Betsy ... I'm not trying to hurt you, but -" Neal said, pleading. He silenced himself as a psionic caress stroked his mind, and Betsy managed to smile. "Neal. Please shut up, go get me that plate of curry rice, and remember that I will always be your friend, also. And thank you," Betsy asked. Neal nodded, then headed upstairs. Warren seemed to mumble something, but remained asleep. And Betsy Braddock pulled her knees underneath her chin, and managed another smile. #Well, Mr. Worthington, you are not going anywhere soon. And now that I've faced my demons, you're going to learn that you haven't fallen anywhere near as far as you might have ...# #I've missed feathers on my back in the morning.# ------------------------------------------------------- NOT the end ... -------------------------------------------------------