Pulse, Part Five

by Tangerine

Bobby soon became consciously aware of Betsy, lying meekly in his arms. The way her breath caught painfully in her throat, the way her stomach rose and fell with every gasp of air, it all drew his utmost attention and worry. There was something amiss here, something he couldn't quite place his finger on ...

"Holy shit, you're pregnant!" Bobby cursed, his dark blue eyes wide open in utter surprised and shock. He then swore inwardly at himself. "I'll watch the language, sorry, but Betsy! I mean, why didn't you tell me? Was it some sort of secret I wasn't supposed to know?"

Moaning quietly in the depths of her throat, Betsy brought a hand to her swollen belly, feeling her skin ripple as the child tossed and turned in her womb. "It was ... no secret, Bobby, not an intentional one. The time never seemed proper to tell you."

"Did Warren know?" Bobby asked quietly, rapidly, under his breath in one release of air through his teeth. It was a delicate subject now. It would hurt to hear him mentioned. Bobby knew that and was wary of it.

Betsy nodded slowly, murmuring softly, "he knew from the moment I conceived, and he died knowing he had left me himself, his soul, in our child. But his death does not hurt me any less knowing that. I did not mean to keep it from you."

"Oh, Betsy, that's okay," Bobby assured her, his heart oozing comfort to lessen her sadness. "I know now, and I'm here for you. How have you been?"

Betsy smiles sadly as if to assure him, but her attempt failed. He could tell just by looking at her what her answer would be. "I've not been well, Bobby. Some days, I can wake up and know I'm alive, but others, there is no life in me. I do not know what I feel anymore."

"I can only imagine what it's like for you."

"Don't," Betsy cautioned him softly, placing a cold, delicate hand on his, squeezing weakly as if that would do anything at all for either of them. "Don't imagine, Bobby. It has been painful but not unbearable."

Bobby looked away from her, unsure if he should speak what crossed his mind, but from the look in her eyes, he was sure she knew. "You seem different, Betsy, changed somehow. Is it the shadows? Have they hurt you again?"

"No," Betsy breathed, feeling them stir all around her as they heard their mention. For a moment, they screamed to be held, to be embraced by her, but she silenced the screams as she always did. She was stronger than they were. "No, I've been free of them for quite sometime. It was better for the baby that I forget about them."

"God," Bobby laughed weakly, "a baby! You, pregnant, I never thought I'd see the day! And you look so beautiful," he added carefully, and she smiled, brushing a strand of thin, purple hair from her tired face. "You'll make a wonderful mother."

"Will I?" Betsy sighed sadly, massaging her swollen flesh gently and stretching her aching back with a brief arch of the spine. "Sometimes, I'm not sure I will. Fate seems to be so utterly against me. Why would this be any different from everything else in my life?"

"It will," Bobby assured her forcefully. "Like they say, it can't rain all the time, right? It's going to be fine. It has to be, Betsy, I'll make sure it is." Bobby stood up suddenly. "Come on, it's late and I bet you're tired."

Betsy began to move, to walk for herself, but Bobby stopped her, placing a strong hand on her shoulder. "Not a good idea. Until I'm convinced you're well enough to be walking, I'm not going to take any chances. It must have been really serious if Sinister involved himself."

"Bastard," Betsy muttered under her breath, ruefully letting Bobby grab hold of her though she knew her weight would make it difficult. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and for a brief moment, hugged him lightly, grateful she was no longer alone.

Bobby began to walk slowly to the elevator holding Betsy tightly to him, cradling her like a child in his arms. She seemed so small despite the baby, like the fire in her had been extinguished and she was slowly deflating. She had been through so much already. Why must she endure this too?

"Where are the others?" Betsy asked softly, afraid to disrupt the serenity of the abandoned halls. "Why haven't I seen anyone but you?"

"I don't know where they are, Betsy," Bobby confessed, his boyish face etched with worry. "I haven't seen them since before you," his voice dropped, "and Warren left for England. Scott said it was only a routine mission, yet there's been no sight of them anywhere. It's almost as if they've totally disappeared."

"Are they dead, and you're simply not telling me?"

"No!" Bobby exclaimed loudly and almost lost his grip, but recovered it and at the same time hit the button for the elevator, stepping in as the doors opened. "At least, I don't know if they are. I mean, the thought, it's crossed my mind, many times, but every night I pray to God that isn't what happened to them."

Betsy conceded with a slight nod of her head, noticing the layer of dust that covered the handles in the elevator. "This place seems so abandoned without the others." A look of brief concern passed over her face. "You've not been here alone the entire time, have you?"

"No," Bobby smiled, "my parents have been putting up with me for the last few months. Before that, well, Remy and I learned more about each other than we ever cared to know. It's been an eventful few months in that regard anyway. Everything else has sucked."

"Yes," Betsy agreed. Her mind was far away from her body but for a single moment in time then her dreaming was gone, and she was back in Bobby's arms, being held like an invalid. "Things have not been good for anyone."

Bobby hugged her closer, wary of doing anything that could harm her. It was incredible the amount of caution he suddenly felt the urge to use, as if one touch to her the wrong way could shatter her weak frame.

And then he stopped suddenly and asked, "which room?"

The quiet question drew Betsy's eyes to the long hall as it loomed dead and silent before them. He was right to ask. She had spent the last year before her departure to England sleeping with Warren, in his room. Her former room had been stripped bare, all her favourite furniture moved to his, all her clothes put there. There was nothing left for her there.

But there was too much in Warren's room.

"You can stay in mine; I'll take the couch," Bobby supplied, reasonably assuming that was her dilemma. All the other rooms were accounted for and locked, saved for the Professor's, which had been destroyed during the confrontation with Onslaught.

With tearful eyes, Betsy offered a cracked, "thank you," barely able to contain the thoughts and the memories racing through her head. She had loved Warren in this house, had grown to love him and cherish him and take him for all he was worth and more. She hadn't thought it would feel like this to return.

They had been so happy here, and now it seemed to be as dead as he was. Why could she never reclaim the past? She had lived here before, without him, single and happy enough, but now, now she couldn't even find a bit of solace here. This was supposed to be her home.

"I should not have returned," Betsy muttered, bringing a cold hand to her weary face, and she was thankful to obstruct her view and block the sight of the abandoned mansion. "I should have stayed in England. This was a mistake to think I could pretend it would be the same if I reappeared in America. There is nothing here."

"I know this doesn't mean much," Bobby started slowly, "but I'm here, and I know that's probably the last thing you need to hear, but if you want to go somewhere, if you want to escape this place, I'll go with you, no question about it."

"But there is no where else we can go."

"I know."

Betsy smoothed her velvet dress over her flat stomach, arching her back so her breasts thrust outwards, and she smiled, twirling lightly on her toes. She felt so marvellously alive and free. The headaches were gone; the voices were not.

"Stop flaunting yourself," Brian instructed wearily, "and do calm down."

"Why must I?" She countered, swinging her hips and watching as the heavy material swayed seductively in the mirror. "I'm gorgeous, Brian, and I have every right to have people stare at me. And besides, I've been cooped up in this house for weeks, unable to even think for myself, and now, that pain has simply disappeared. I can live again! I've never felt so incredibly alive in my entire life!"

Brian stood, letting the tie fall to the ground in a heap. "And you'll just as soon go back the way you were if you aren't careful. Betsy, start thinking sensibly: any strain on you could have an irreparable effect on your mind. You are still hearing things."

"But it isn't nearly as loud as it was," Betsy rebuked, stalking past him to her purple shoes which lay discarded in the far corner. "And I really am fine, more than fine even. Splendid! Tonight is going to be incredible!"

"I suppose." Brian was obviously less than enthused by the thought of the impending evening. "I don't see why father has to make such a fuss about it. I despise having my birthday celebrated so grandly. Why can we never just simply stay home and function as a normal family?"

"Because we aren't normal, brother dear, you know that!" She tapped him playfully on the shoulder, grinning mischievously. "Who else can read minds with a thought? I should hope we're rare and far apart." Betsy laughed in delight, ready to go on before Brian abruptly grabbed her and put his hand over her mouth.

"What are you dorks giggling about?" Jamie demanded, staring suspiciously at his siblings. "Father says to hurry it up. The guests are arriving, and God knows, we wouldn't want the incredible Braddock twins late for their own eighteenth birthday celebration."

He left on that note of bitter sarcasm, and Betsy and Brian stared after, regretful he always chose to be so rude to them. If he had been able to find it within himself to be the slightest bit nicer to them, perhaps they could actually get along as a family.

"Must he always be so sour?" Betsy pouted, clenched hands on her slender hips.

"He's Jamie, I doubt he has any choice." Brian sighed and grabbed his tie from the floor, knotting it quickly. "Come on, we're going to be late. Perhaps, if we're lucky, there might be a few people under forty."

"Perhaps," Betsy said slyly, slipping into her shoes. Tonight was going to be a night she would never forget.

"I'm dreadfully bored," Betsy muttered into Brian's ear, leaning against him as they stood in the corner, watching the elders discuss business or football. It seemed they knew very little else. "Why must they all be such dinosaurs?"

"It comes with age, Betsy," Brian muttered under his breath, eying a suspicious blond chap who seemed to be ogling his sister. "Are you acquainted with that fellow over there standing beside the punch?"

Betsy looked over and immediately a young blond head turned away from her, pretending to be aware of something an older man was saying, most likely his father. "I've never seen him before this night. Why?"

"He's been looking at you for hours."

Betsy smirked at the dry tone in which Brian revealed this tidbit of news to her. "Has he now? Well, perhaps this party might prove interesting after all. I shall go talk to him, I think, and find out his name. He is quite handsome."

"And young," Brian whispered loudly, drawing stares from the surrounding crowd. "I would bet he's not even fifteen."

"And what if he isn't?" Betsy retorted through clenched teeth. "Nevertheless, I'll go strike up some friendly conversation. Don't wait up, Brian," Betsy added devilishly, adding a seductive motion to her hips simply to make her brother fume.

The young man saw her coming and darted outside an open door into the warm, summer- touched moors. Thankfully the weather was clear and the wind barely a whisper in the world. Intrigued, Betsy followed, sparing one last grin to Brian.

Betsy stretched her arms back as the warmth hit her flesh, thrusting her chest out erotically and flattening her hips. "Mmmm," she moaned through her full lips, catching sight of the youth who was to pursue her. "I know you're there."

"Consider me impressed." An American voice, sarcastic and deep.

"Don't play coy with me," Betsy warned, circling him, studying him. "I saw you watching me, all night even. Do you want me?"

"You make that sound like such an honour." His laugh was low in his chest, and unreal as if forced. "Do you even know who I am?"

"Who are you?"

"It doesn't matter." Such a response! Betsy could hardly believe this game that they played. It was so utterly exhilarating.

"It matters to me."

The youth smiled, flashing perfect teeth in a perfect face haloed by perfect hair. "Warren, Warren Worthington the Third."

"Pah! I thought it'd be a name I recognised." Betsy saw a brief look of hurt pass over his face, and immediately she felt regretful she had said it.

"In America, my name is well known," he said softly, "and we have the third largest private fortune in the country. I don't know why you haven't heard of us. We have a lot of power and money, more than the Braddocks anyway."

"Cheap shot." Betsy grinned, the tension between them high and electric. "Why are you in England?"

"My father is attempting to take over one of your father's competitors."

"I asked why you are."

"I was suspended from school."

"Why?"

"Fighting."

"How old are you?"

"Does it matter?"

"No." She drew close to him, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the shadows, away from sight, away from curious eyes. "There's something about you, Warren, that attracts me. Do you feel it?"

His breathing was deep and shallow, as if out of breath and struggling to regain it. She could feel it on her skin, how warm and soothing it was. It ignited her nerves on fire, like the sensitive touch of a lover's tongue. "Are you a virgin?"

"No. Are you?"

"No." So here they were, two like-souls, bodies passionate for the other, reaching out to be touched, caressed, loved. How she wanted him to just grab her waist and kiss her firmly, forcing his tongue between her lips, yet he held back, wary of her, untrusting.

Her voice caught in her throat. "What is it?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he muttered, turning away from her. "Listen, it's been fun, but I just can't. It's not you, it's me, I just ... don't touch me!" He yelped as she put a hand on his shoulder. He knocked it off, but not before a look of confusion passed over her beautiful face. "Don't ask, please, don't ask."

"About your wings?" She asked softly, guilty for having heard his most inner thoughts as if he had shouted them. He looked surprised for a moment, ready to deny, but Betsy cut him off, clamping her mouth on his. It was too much, these feelings, this sensuality that was between them. The urge was too strong, and her need to rebel, to be that devilish rich kid who did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.

And she wanted him.

His flesh was soft to her touch, and she went to him with a passion he had never seen before. She seemed so in control, to have such a control over him, and she knew it. She knew she had that power. She knew he was hers, body and soul but mind especially. She would allow him to feel nothing but pleasure.

There was never anything but pleasure.

And when all was said and done, she had regret.

So she took his memories of what she had done from him and cleansed her soul.

Like she always would thereafter.

[next part]

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