Pulse, Part Twelve

by Tangerine

 "You didn't sleep," Betsy said, sitting next to Bobby as the sun rose slowly in the east.  She watched the sky, loving the deep colours of yellow, orange and blue, all mixed together to form a sight that took her breath away.  Warren had died to a sunrise.  "What troubles you, Bobby?  You know I don't blame you for wanting to be safe."

 Bobby sniffed and looked at her, blinking away his tears.

 "Why do you do this to yourself?"

 Bobby wiped his eyes on his arm.  "What?"

 "When did you begin to think that you did not deserve happiness?"  Betsy brushed the back of her hand against his cheek, drying the soft skin and pushing the tangled hair from his face.  "You are so young, Bobby.  You will throw it all away."

 "Throw what away?"

 "Joy," Betsy whispered sadly.  "Of what are you so afraid?  That he will not love you back?  Because he will, Bobby, it is his way.  He will love you with all that he is and more if you only ask for it.  You don't need to be afraid."

 "But I'm not gay," Bobby muttered, putting his hands to his face.  "I'm not."

 Betsy clasped her hands, resting her head on her fists as she watched the horizon, bittersweet memories clouding her thoughts.  In the end, this was all he had wanted, to sit and watch the sun come up wrapped in her arms.  She had not seen a sunrise since his death.

 "Bobby, you think that you have some reason why you should be punished.  I will not blame it on your father, though I think in part that might be a reason, but I will blame it on the fact that you are a mutant.  You and I, Bobby, we're already a minority, but we have a difference.  I accepted the fact I was a mutant with open arms, it set me apart and I revelled in that fact, but you, Bobby, you never wanted to be anything other than normal, did you?"

 Bobby tilted his head, looking her deep in the eyes, but he could not say anything, not yet.  He nodded solemnly, ashamed of who and what he was.  Betsy touched his face again, her thumb stroking under one red eye, her fingers nestled in his hair.

 "Bobby, but this is normal for you.  This is the way it was intended for you to be.  Why can't you see what a special thing that is?"  Betsy took him in her arms, the maternal instincts in her sharpened to a point.  He leaned against her, blinking back hot tears, and she cradled his head against her body, watching the sky.  "Is it the speed that you fear?"

 "It's too fast," he choked, his fingers curling on her flesh.  "I don't know ... I don't ... I..."

 "Then let me tell you this: Bobby, it took me almost three hours to fall in love with Warren."  Bobby looked at her, skepticism etched on his young face, and she smiled gently.  "I started spending time with him because I thought, of all the men in the Mansion, that he was the least likely candidate for my love.  I had always thought he was a jerk, pompous, snotty, superficial and terribly self-righteous, but he was beautiful, and I was lonely.  I hadn't wanted a relationship.  I hadn't wanted love.  I had only wanted to sleep with him."

 "But you..."

 Betsy grinned and shook her head.  "Don't you dare say that, Bobby.  Contrary to popular belief, I had slept with only a handful of men before Warren, and I was young then, very young and foolish.  I am much older now and though I may have dressed like a harlot, I am the picture of chastity.  Our first night together was the same night as our first date, and that night, when I finally looked at Warren away from the others, away from people who expected him to fill the role of playboy, I saw the man that I would love.  Perhaps our relationship moved fast, but it was right for us, and sometimes it is so right that the speed of the union does not matter, only that the people involved are finally together."

 Bobby bowed his head, so ashamed, so unclean.  "I loved him, you know."

 "I know that," Betsy murmured, brushing his hair back with gentle, motherly fingers.  "That someone so pure, someone so full of innocence and hope could love him like you did made him happy, Bobby."

 "Did Warren tell you?"  Bobby asked, blinking back the tears as they rose again.  "About me ...?"

 Betsy kissed the top of his head, the solidity of his body and the steady rise of his chest calming her rattled nerves.  How great it was to be needed again, it made her forget how useless she had become.  "Unintentionally.  He held the secret for you like he promised."

 Bobby sniffed and straightened his body, bringing his knees to his chest and watching the orange sky welcome morning.  "He was my first kiss, Betsy, I don't know if he told you that.  I haven't told anybody ever, not even Hank.  I was so embarrassed, I thought I would die, but Warren was never ashamed.  Warren wasn't like me."

 "Warren was afraid of men, Bobby, he had always been mistreated by them.  You were the only man he ever let touch him without fear, whom he didn't fear at all.  Why can't you see that you are special?"  Betsy rubbed his back tenderly as she used to do to Brian, to calm her brother whenever the weight of the world threatened to tear him down.  "Tell me, Bobby, tell me your secret so it is a secret no more."

 Bobby lifted his head and stared at her.  "But you already know."

 "But I did not hear it from you.  Tell me, please, I want to know the real you."

 Bobby frowned and licked his lips, aware of how parched and dry they had become.  He could feel Betsy's eyes on him, the deep purple cutting to his very soul.  How he had come to be in this position he was not sure, but perhaps it was the proper time for him to stop hiding.  Death could come any moment.  What if he died before ever having really lived at all?

 "I'm gay, Betsy."

 There.  He said it.  But despite trying to convince himself that it was nothing, Bobby knew it was everything, and he could feel the weight lifted from his shoulders.  "And I will come with you to Sinister.  I promised to protect you, Betsy, and if nothing else, the last vestige of my strength is yours."

 "Thank you," she whispered, "now ask Shatterstar if he is still willing to come.  If nothing else, I want him there in case what I have to do becomes too much for you, and I will try to find Remy, to somehow add power to our number."

****

 Remy LeBeau sat on the train, reading the newspaper with eyes cloaked by sunglasses.  The woman across from him watched him attentive dedication, but he paid very little mind to her.  Rogue would come back to him someday, and he would not prove everyone right by abandoning the hopeless ideals of their love, even if loving her did not make him happy.

 He stood up, heading straight for the washroom to dispense the morning's coffee where it belonged.  He slipped into the far too small compartment, locking the door behind him as he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

 "I am handsome beyond belief," he decided, grinning.  He leaned over the toilet, undoing his pants, humming a little tune, grinning as if he had some reason to grin.  He looked down, his eyes bulging in their sockets as he gazed into the shadows.  "Merde!"

 *Take my hand.*

 "Psylocke?"  He said, staring at the fingers as the hand waited patiently, the nails long and sharp.  "Can you at least let me put the package away, woman?  And what do you think you're doing, scaring a man during a piss like that?"

 Remy grinned at the telepathic cursing and zipped up his pants, washing his hands for her sake.  Accepting his luggage as a loss, he grabbed firm hold of the fingers and held his breath as the world writhed and turned inside out.

 When the darkness gave way to blinding sunlight, he steadied himself and concentrated on keeping his breakfast where it was meant to be kept.  He blinked and wiped his mouth, raising his eyebrows at the group gathered before him.

 He opened his mouth to speak, to utter some witty comment that would warrant its fair share of dirty looks and shaking heads, but Betsy raised her hand, her skin dark and grey but growing increasingly lighter with every second.  His eyes connected with hers, and he saw something graver than worry in her eyes.  He saw fear.  She would have only come after him for a reason.  She would only have found him if it was a matter of life or death.  He would not open his mouth until she spoke first.

****

 The words Betsy needed to say came hard to her tongue, and she searched hard for them, to find the perfect sentence that would convince Remy to go into the darkest pits of hell for her and do it all willingly.

 "I need you to take me to Sinister," she said simply.  She sensed Bobby's surprise, his confusion at the request, and though she understood why Remy had kept the secret about his involvement with the Marauders, this was more important.

 "I don't know what you're talking about," Remy replied, reaching into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and removing a cigarette, lighting it with a flick of his fingers.  He puffed on it intently.  "I don't."

 "Warren and I had no secrets, Remy," Betsy said carefully.

 The Cajun's face fell and he inhaled sharply then exhaled the stream of smoke from his nostrils.  The devillish red-on-black eyes rose, surveying the landscape, avoiding the looks.  "I don't want to be involved."

 "You involved yourself the moment you agreed to work for him," Betsy said sharply, trying to sound strong and sure of herself despite her growing fears.  Her baby was still, the thoughts heavily clouded, and there was a fear in her so deep that she was sick with it.  "Remy, you have to take me to him."

 Remy frowned.  "You don't want to involve yourself with him, chere."

 "If you can think of some other way to save my child, you tell me!  You tell me what other choice I have!  Remy, where have you been for the last few months?  Where were you when I almost lost this child?  Or when Sinister came and saved it?  Where were you when Apocalypse tried to take it from me?  You have no right to think you have any say here!  You will take me to him or I will make you!"

 Remy reeled back, dropping his cigarette from his dry lips and cursing when it hit his hand, burning his skin.  He rubbed his flesh with his thumb, looking at it.  "He will destroy you, Elisabeth, you make no mistake about that."

 "Then let my destruction come.  I am unimportant."

 "Your death will not be on my head," Remy said sharply.  "If he should cross you, if he should do to you what he did to me, you will not blame that on me!  You think you know, Elisabeth, but you don't have any idea what he'll do to you!"

 "My life is already not mine to own.  Do you think I care who will fight for possession of my soul?"  Betsy asked quietly, putting her hand to her forehead as a headache descended upon her rapidly.  "Remy, please, there is no one else who can help me."

 Aware she was grovelling, Betsy could not find the strength to raise her eyes and meet his glance.  She had been reduced to the role of beggar, and even then he refused to help her, humiliated her, forced her into this pathetic state.  Had Warren begged like this when Apocalypse offered him his only desire?

 Why are you not here?  She thought as if he could somehow hear her, her fingers brushing her tangled hair from her face.  Damn you, Warren!  You are in my every thought, my dream, my every hope.  I am nothing now, nothing at all without you, and you, you are not coming back to me, are you?

****

 Remy could only stare at Betsy, painfully aware of her hopelessness, her sorrow, her fear.  All of it he felt as a thousand shards of glass into his soul, wanting to ignore it, able to ignore it.  He could be the strong one if the others refused that role.

 "Remy, will you please help her?"  Bobby asked softly, his voice uneven as if he feared he would condemn her more with the words.   "Please.  You'll do her more harm than good if you don't.  She is right.  There is no other choice."

 Remy frowned.  "I don't want that on my conscience."

 "Why will nobody help me?!"  Betsy shrieked suddenly, hot tears blurring her sight.  "I've done so much for you!  All of you, I would have given my life for you, and when it comes to me, when it comes to me you are cowards and want me to suffer."

 "We don't want you to suffer, Betsy," Bobby said, guilty that she spoke to both him and Remy, aware that the only one willing to help her without question was an essential stranger who sought only to do what was right.  "There just has to be another way."

 "To whom do you want me to give my soul?  This game between them, between the Dawn and Sinister and Apocalypse, is already out of control.  Do you wish that I should sell whatever is left of me to the next highest bidder? Perhaps I could go to Roma, or perhaps Merlin her father, perhaps I should bring them into the game?  I can bring Mojo and Spiral into it, if you wish, or perhaps I should bring the children, Jubilee, Everett, Jonothon.  Should I forfeit their lives as well as mine?  I can ask Brian for help and pray that his child does not die in the attempt.  You tell me the other way and I will do it."

 Remy and Bobby exchanged looks, having fought alongside each other long enough to understand that they were both worried for her sanity that seemed to be slowly ebbing away.  Shatterstar, separate from the fight, stepped forward, dressed in his full uniform and his blades clutched in either hand.

 "Sinister is the lesser of the three evils.  It is only logical that he is the one who helps you.  On my world, once you lose control of a situation, you are considered already dead.  You are not yet out of control.  Invite more players and you will lose that advantage," he said carefully.  "And if she choses to forcefully remove the information from your head, I will help her."

 Gambit raised his eyebrows at the tone the youth took with him.  "And who are you, boy, to think you know anything about Sinister?  I've heard of you, Shatterstar, and nothing I've heard makes me think your advice is something a body should take."

 A flash of silver and Gambit was on the ground, the double-bladed sword pressed under his chin.  Shatterstar stood over him, his figure illuminated by the bright sun at his back, and his eyes narrowed, the dark tattoo over his eye the central focus of Gambit's sight.  The Cajun attempted to speak, but Shatterstar pushed the blade deeper, drawing a bead of blood before removing the weapon.  "It is custom that you shed blood for your words.  When a warrior insults another warrior out of anger it is considered a crime."

 "Yeah?  Who's custom?"  Remy muttered, sitting up and placing his palm against his throat.  Known for his agility and quick reflexes, it bothered Remy that the boy had him down before he knew what hit him.

 "The Cadre Alliance," Shatterstar replied, sheathing both his swords and turning his back to Gambit, a symbol that the conflict had been solved.  "And be aware that if you were not an X-Man, I would have shed more lifeblood than a single drop."

 "Asshole," Remy mumbled, his voice a deep growl.  If she wanted this, she would take it from him, willingly or not, so it would be better he accept the former and spare himself some immense pain.  "Elisabeth, if this is what you want ..."

 "It is."

 "And I have you word that you will not blame me for what happens?"

 "You do."

 Remy grunted, lighting a second cigarette and taking a deep breath.  He didn't believe her, not entirely.  He knew the accusing stares would never come from her or Bobby or even Shatterstar.  They would come from everyone else when they found out he had delivered a pregnant woman to a monster.

 "Then I will find him."

[next part]

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