Subject: [Mindgames] Cut Right To The Quick: Part Five - Necessary Evils (Betsy/Warren) Date: Wed, 27 Mar 2002 19:53:36 +0000 From: "Philip Hunn" This is the final part to my long-running story "Cut Right To The Quick", although it's not the end of the tale as regards Rebecca... - Phil. Disclaimer: None of these characters (bar Rebecca) belongs to me, and no profit is being made. Rating: R, thanks to a couple of bad words. Summary: Warren and Betsy take a little time out from their tumultuous personal lives and talk to each other in private. Notes: *speech* = telepathic communication. Cut Right To The Quick, Part Five - Necessary Evils "So," Warren says, his brow creasing with barely-veiled concern, "how'd they take it?" "As well as can be expected, I think," I tell him, folding my hands together over the handle of my stick. "Scott still wants to help her, and Jean? Well, you know her better than I do, so I think you can guess her reaction." Warren smiles ruefully, and scratches his unshaven chin with a single fingertip. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I can." He coughs, and clears his throat. "You haven't shown her to me yet, Betsy." "With good reason," I snap, glaring at him suddenly. "I didn't want you to see what she's become until I was absolutely sure that you were ready for it." Warren's blue eyes flare with indignation, and he draws back from me, his face twisting with hurt. "Betsy..." he says softly, "I'm ready _now._ That's my daughter we're talking about - if I can't accept what she is now, then what chance will I ever have?" Sceptically, I raise an eyebrow. "_Are_ you ready, Warren? Do you know what I saw in her mind?" Warren shakes his head without a word, but his expression doesn't change; he still has a look of wronged determination etched into his features, and he still looks absolutely committed to doing what he wants to do. Absolutely what I expected... *Perhaps if I showed you, Warren, you'd be a little less eager,* I tell him with my thoughts, deciding that words won't sufficiently illustrate what I'm trying to get across to him. *She was there with the Marauders, and she was just like them. She told Scott and Jean that they would never change her. She showed all three of us that she doesn't want to change what she is.* "But Scott and Jean still want to help her," he says, gripping my hand a little more tightly. "Surely that should tell you something?" "Maybe it does, Warren," I say, speaking aloud once again, "but I don't know if I can do this thing. I told Scott and Jean that I would help them help her, but I'm not sure if I can make good on that promise." I pull my lips into a thin line for a moment, inclining my head to one side briefly. "What am I supposed to _do?_ Act like _them?_ I don't have a fucking _clue_ how to relate to Rebecca!" "Join the club," Warren says sardonically. "Nothing would make me happier than to have everything go back to the way it was." He sighs. "But that's not exactly going to happen, so I thought that you and I ought to... well... adopt Rebecca, legally." That makes me laugh out loud - a thin, listless sound, without any real humour behind it. "Even assuming that I _wanted_ to adopt Rebecca at this point, Warren - which I don't - how would you propose we do that? She doesn't even _exist,_ as far as the law is concerned. You can't just waltz right into the adoption offices and ask them oh-so-nicely if they'll just _overlook_ the fact that she doesn't have a birth certificate or a Social Security number. They'd laugh in our faces - or worse, arrest us for fraud." "No, they wouldn't," Warren says, his thoughts indicating a sudden flash of discomfort, which is mirrored in his cheeks flushing purple for a moment or two. That's enough for me to realise that something has been going on outside my notice, and it's also enough for me to feel usurped in some fashion, although I'm not sure exactly how. "I can pretty much guarantee that." "How can you guarantee that?" I say, gritting my teeth and fixing Warren with a steely glare. "What have those two idiots done now?" "Those 'two idiots' didn't do anything, Betsy," Warren replies calmly. "I asked Hank to help me fix Rebecca up with a Social Security number and a birth certificate. Right now he's making a few calls to some friends of his from his time on the Avengers, who still owe him a favour or two. They're going to give Rebecca a watertight life-history that not even Peter Gyrich could see through." "And Henry _agreed_ to this?" I am rendered momentarily speechless, anger churning restlessly in the pit of my stomach, as if I have swallowed a bucket of hot coals. "Why?" "Because he wants this to be as simple as possible for all of us," Warren tells me, his expression conveying his obvious discomfort even more clearly. "He almost didn't say yes when I asked him, actually..." "Are you surprised, Warren?" I snap, feeling some veins begin to throb painfully in my temples. "You asked him to break the law, for God's sake!" "_Bend_ the law," Warren corrects me. "And I'm not exactly comfortable with this either, Betts - this goes against everything that my parents ever taught me. Hell, it goes against everything that the Professor ever taught me, too - but I'm doing it because it's the only way that Rebecca will ever be able to fit into the outside world." He shrugs. "And it's not like we're going over entirely new territory here, Betsy; it's what we had to do for Rachel when she arrived here, after all -" I'm about to snap at him again, but I pull back for a moment, forcing myself to calm down. I know Warren is only doing what he feels is right, and for that reason I forcibly quell the seething sensation of rage that is bubbling just beneath my skin. Besides, I _did_ leave myself open to this when I agreed, however grudgingly, to Scott and Jean's ideas, so in this instance I don't really have a leg to stand on... "Yes, Warren, I know what happened. I'm just not very comfortable with it, that's all. Put yourself in my place; do you think you'd feel comfortable if I had done the same without you knowing?" Warren shakes his head, resignedly. "No, I thought not. Look, Warren... I appreciate what you're trying to do - I do - but I'd also appreciate it if you talked to me about it _first._" Warren nods guiltily. "I'm sorry, Betsy. I know, I know, I should have spoken to you before I did anything, but... I just wanted Rebecca to feel that she has a place to belong other than with Sinister. I thought that if she saw something of what we'd done for her, she might change her mind, you know?" He shrugs sheepishly. "I thought it was a good idea to get Hank started on those phone calls as soon as possible; I didn't want to waste any more time than I had to." He pauses, and scratches behind his right ear with a nervous kind of energy. "I guess that's what a lifetime of trading on Wall Street's taught me, right?" "I suppose so," I say, shifting my stick into the palm of my right hand and pushing myself to my feet arduously. Warren immediately starts forward to help me, but I wave him off firmly. "I'm going to go for a walk in the garden, Warren. Would you like to come with me?" Warren raises an eyebrow. "Why?" "I need some fresh air," I tell him, shortly. "Besides, aren't a husband and wife allowed to take walks together any more?" I offer him a small smile, as if that will soothe his misgivings. Immediately, I can sense that it doesn't (not totally, at least), but it's a start, I suppose. "I've missed you, Warren." Warren's face clouds over with puzzlement. "I've been right here, Betts; right here the whole time. You _know_ that. Why would you feel like that if you know I haven't gone anywhere?" "You might have been in the house, Warren, but we haven't had that much time for the two of us to be alone together. Not really. I just... want an hour or two where I don't have to talk to anyone about Rebecca, and what I'm going to do with her. Is that being selfish?" I pause, sighing. "Because if it is, I don't want to cause any problems." Warren shakes his head and stands up behind me. "No, Betsy, it's not being selfish at all." He moves so that he is beside me, and slips his hand into my free left palm. I grip it tightly, his blue fingers intertwining themselves with mine. "You want to go down to the lake?" he suggests, a little more brightly than before. "It's a little cold, but if you want I could find us some blankets -" "No, it's all right, Warren. I think I can cope with a little cold. I've been down to the lake before in nothing but a swimsuit and a towel, after all." I sigh. "I appreciate the offer, though. Just... don't try wrapping me in cotton wool for the rest of my life, all right?" Warren nods, a wry little smile on his lips. "You think I'd try doing that? I'm not that clingy, Betts. And I know you at least as well as you know me - I know you'd get pretty tired of that after a while. I'm just... I'm just trying to help you right now, that's all." "I know. And I'm grateful, my angel." I return his smile as best I can, and move towards the door as quickly as my healing legs will allow, my stick dully thumping against the thick carpet of my room, and then clicking against the hard wooden floor of the hallway. It is still difficult for me to move at any real speed with my legs still unable to respond as well as they used to, and that frustrates me to no end. I used to be a dancer... but now all I am is a cripple, begging at the roadside for scraps that nobody else wants. My disgust for my situation is barely disguisable, and I'm sure Warren can feel it through our link, even if it weren't instantly obvious on my face. Sure enough, Warren notices my discomfort, and stops, holding out his arms for me. "You know, if it would make it a little easier for you, I could... you know, carry you down to the lake, if you wanted me to. It's not that far, and you're not exactly a burden - far from it. What do you say?" I shake my head, my posture stiffening slightly. "No thank you, Warren; I'm all right. If I don't keep doing this I won't ever be able to walk properly again. Not like I used to." I don't elaborate any further, but Warren understands. I've told him what Scalphunter used to do to me when I was a prisoner. I've told him how Scalphunter treated me like nothing more than a fleshy bag of smashed femurs and ribs, fit only to be thrown repeatedly to the wolves every night. To have to go unwillingly through the memory of that again - to have to be confronted by such an ugly demon, even when being treated like a princess by the person I love, more than anything else in the world - is too much for me to bear right at this moment. "Maybe next time." I offer him a hopeful smile - as much to reassure myself that I will be able to bring myself to accept such an offer, as to reassure Warren that he will be able to make that same offer in the future. Warren nods sadly. "No problem," he says, dejected. "Next time." The look on his face breaks my heart. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry -" He waves me quiet, a philosophical expression replacing his disappointment. "It's okay. Really, it's okay. You take as much time as you need, honey - if you need to walk it, then you walk it, all right? Just remember I'll be here if you think you can't make it." He winks. "Come on, sweetheart. Last one to the lake buys dinner." He squeezes my free hand, and helps me down the stairs of the mansion's entrance hall before holding the front doors open for me. "Better get that chequebook ready, darling," I tell him, before I slip my hand into his and walk alongside him, as fast as I am able. The grounds of the Xavier Institute are in autumnal mood, the leaves of the trees glowing in different shades of red, gold and yellow, both on their boughs, and scattered on the thick green grass that carpets the gardens. As Warren told me, there is a definite chill in the air, the scant remains of sprinkled early morning dew clinging to the grass. My breath mists in front of my face, forming small, puffy clouds that are swiftly carried away by the slight breeze. It's nice to be outside rather than cooped up indoors; it's been a very tiring few days, and I need some sunshine desperately... * Breakstone Lake feels clear and cool as I dip my hand into the water and let it play over my fingers gently. Across the water, there is a group of ducks fussing and grooming themselves, and paddling in lazy meandering paths in their search for food. "They're pretty, aren't they?" I say softly, gesturing at them with a restrained movement of my hand, as one of the males raises himself up on the water with a few flaps of his wings in order to scare off a rival. "Yeah. That they are," Warren agrees. "Sometimes I wish you and I could be like them - they don't have any worries at all. Just fly away when things get too tough, and start again somewhere else, you know?" "You don't know how many times that thought had occurred to me, Warren," I sigh. "Couldn't we go to your aerie for a week or so - just the two of us?" Warren raises his eyebrows. "Sure. We _could_ do that." He pauses. "Would you really want to, though?" I sigh again, sadly. "No." I run my hands through my hair, freeing it from its loose ponytail, and look out at the ducks again before continuing. "It wouldn't be fair to Scott or Jean to leave them here like that." Warren nods. "You're too noble for your own good sometimes, Betts." He frowns suddenly. "I thought you didn't want to talk about them?" "No, you're right, Warren, I didn't. Let's talk about something else." I shrug. "Anything. Please." "So how about them Yankees, huh? Did you see their game against the Red Sox?" Warren says brightly, after a moment's pause. "That home run in the ninth innings -" "Anything but sports," I say abruptly, my mouth tugging itself up at the corners in a reluctant smile. This is a favourite tactic of Warren's - he can make any given situation seem better than it is, by switching to something so completely unrelated that it seems ridiculous. Another of his talents... Warren winks at me again. "Anything but sports. Gotcha." He takes my hand in his and glances at the sky for a second or two. "Can I tell you something, Betsy?" I frown, a little taken aback. "Of course, Warren - what is it?" Warren falls silent again for a second or two before speaking again. "These past few weeks..." He scratches at the base of his neck nervously. "These past few weeks have been tough for me, Betsy - nowhere near as tough as they have for you, I know, but pretty tough. Seeing you in so much pain, and not being able to do anything about it, is one of the hardest things I've ever had to experience in my life. See, it's not how I've lived my life up till now - if something was wrong in my company or my life, I fixed it. And now... with you, I saw something that I couldn't fix myself, and I felt helpless. Some big-shot CEO I am, if I can't even help my own wife get well, right?" "But you _are_ helping me, Warren." I reach towards him with my other hand, leaving my stick on the dewy grass, and stroke his cheek gently. "You've been helping me more than I can put into words." Warren's mouth curves up lopsidedly. "Funny choice of phrase there, Betsy - I thought words didn't mean that much to telepaths?" He touches his forehead with his free hand, placing his fingers just below his hairline. "Don't tell me how you feel, Betsy - _show_ me." His smile widens. "You know, _you_ should be the one telling _me_ to do this. Telepaths are supposed to be touchy-feely like that, right?" I smile at that, briefly. "Not really, Warren, but thank you for the generalisation anyway," I tell him with a slight laugh. "Are you sure you want me to do this?" Warren nods firmly. "Yes, Betsy, I'm sure." He taps his temple. "Come on. Hit me one more time, baby." I raise an eyebrow. "Why in the name of God did I agree to marry you again?" "Because I make kick-ass blueberry pancakes," Warren laughs, and taps his head again. "Get to it." I sigh. "Very well, Warren. You asked for it." I cup his face in my hands and lean forwards so that our foreheads are touching, and our eyes are directly opposite one another. Then, I unlock the floodgates of my mind and let all the conflicting emotions I've been experiencing for the past few days sluice out of my memory, and into Warren's conscious mind, like a boiling tidal wave. I can see his eyes widen in shock as he feels my buried pains and agonies, and I can see tears streak his cheeks as he feels the gratitude and love for him that has sustained me for as long as I've been recovering. I can feel the butterfly of my telepathy settling in the middle of his mind, nestling into his thoughts as if they were my own, and it warms my heart. On my part, I can feel the concerns, fears and worries that Warren felt for me then, and still feels for me now, a lot more viscerally than I can usually do so through our psychic rapport. The rapport gives me a detailed sense of them, of course, but to initiate this kind of telepathic contact, as well as keeping that bond open, means that every emotion is multiplied in its intensity. In fact, it's almost too hard for me to bear, but I keep the link open until I have exhausted my own deeply-concealed feelings, and there is nothing left in my mind to keep from him. I draw back from Warren, and he blinks back his tears, wiping his their salt trails dry with two fingertips. "Wow," he says simply. "That... that was intense, that's for sure. I had no idea you felt that way, Betts." "Like I said, Warren, you've been helping me more than I can put into words," I tell him quietly. "Without you... this would have been a lot harder. It's... nice to know you're there." "Always," he answers without hesitation. "You only have to ask. You know that, don't you?" "Yes, Warren, I know that, and that means an awful lot to me." Warren pulls one side of his mouth up into a wry grin, his face brightening a little. "There you go," he says cheerfully. "I can tell you're feeling better already." He kisses me on the cheek awkwardly, still afraid to upset me. The contact is brief, but it sends a shudder down my spine involuntarily, and crushes my good humour like a flower caught beneath a steel-capped jackboot. Warren immediately feels the shift in my mood through our link, and his face falls. "Aw, jeez... I'm sorry, Betts. I didn't mean to -" "I know you didn't, Warren," I tell him. "Don't be sorry - it's not your fault, I promise. It happens sometimes, that's all. It'll happen until I'm ready to put what happened to me behind me, and there's nothing I can do about that." Warren nods sadly, and glances out at the lake's surface again. "Bet you wish you could fly away more than ever now, don't you?" I nod, watching the clouds blowing lazily across the sky with jealous interest. "More than you realise." Despite my words, Warren actually knows precisely what kind of pain I've suffered recently - when I have suffered flashbacks to what happened in the Bronx (which hasn't happened that often, thankfully, but still occurs sometimes), or have felt discomfort directly caused by it, he's felt precisely what I feel, since my control over my telepathic powers... _wavers..._ somewhat during that time. Put succinctly, we both end up sweating and crying in recalled agony, and it tears us both up emotionally. It hurts me because I cannot spare him something that nobody should have to go through, and it hurts him because every time it happens, he feels that it was his fault that I was not spared it in the first place. "You want to go back indoors?" Warren suggests, jerking his thumb in the direction of the house. "I'm sure we could find something to do in the rec. room, after all -" I shake my head, and lie back in the deep green grass so that I can look up at my husband's kind features. "No, Warren - can we stay out here for a while? I like it here." I smile at him. "I like the view, especially." "Ah, that's what they all say eventually," Warren says, looking away from me and running a hand through his hair in a show of mock-vanity. "Once you've had Worthington-love, you never go back." "Oh, is that so?" I say, propping myself up on my elbows and regarding my husband with a curious eye. "Just how many people subscribe to this theory of yours?" "You want me to go get you the club newsletter?" Warren offers, pointing towards the house again. "I'm sure I can dig you out a spare copy from the subscribers' list, after all. There's enough to go around." I raise an eyebrow. "That wasn't an answer, Warren. Come on - give me precise figures. I'm interested." "Well," Warren says, "let's just say that if you were to go down to the Village at night, they have entire clubs dedicated to Warren-worship." He preens again, theatrically, and I have to hit him playfully to get him to stop. "Liar," I tell him with a small smile. "You don't have anything _that_ attractive to put on the mass-market, you know." I pause. "Well, there _is_ the whole sexy body and gorgeous blond hair thing, but other than that..." I shake my head. "Doesn't look too good, I'm afraid." "Oh my. I better find a way of making money other than my looks, then, hadn't I?" Warren grins. "I'd better call off that photo-shoot I had planned for next week..." I incline my head to one side, my smile still firmly in place, and sign softly. "How do you do this, Warren?" "Do what?" Warren asks, puzzled. "Make me smile, when all I want to do is cry," I reply, simply. "How do you do it?" Warren's face becomes a little more serious, but his response is just as light-hearted as ever. "It's a skill I learned from Jean," he begins. "She told me that making people happy when they're miserable is one of the most special things someone can do for someone else." He touches my hand briefly, his fingers gentle and restrained, and catches my gaze with his own. "Especially when that person they're trying to cheer up is the most precious thing in their life." He cups my cheek in his palm and I lean into it slightly, enjoying the sensation of his warm skin against mine. This time, there is no remembered discomfort - for which I'm eternally grateful - and I am able to enjoy the intimacy of the moment without feeling sorry for myself. Warren draws me close to him in a tentative embrace, and whispers into my ear "You're worth more to me than everything I own, Betsy. All I want to see is you happy again." "The feeling's mutual," I reply quietly. "I could stay here forever." The sad undertone in my voice indicates to Warren that something else is on my mind, and he draws back from me so that he can look me in the eye. "But?" he asks, perceptively. "But I can't," I sigh. "We still have to deal with what's indoors, don't we?" "Not until we go back inside," Warren scolds, wagging his finger at me. "We're going to stay out here a little while longer, and _then_ we'll talk about Rebecca, all right?" I smile again, my spirit buoyed slightly by Warren's little pep talk. "All right, Warren. That sounds like a plan to me." Warren grins. "That's my girl." He picks up a small stone and skims it across the lake's surface. "While we're out here, I can teach you how to do this..." For the first time in a long time, I feel as if I am having fun. The problems of my life still reside in my home, but they seem far away for a long while. And for that, I am grateful. fin.