Release, Part Twenty

by Tangerine

Warren looked up from the water as he heard the door close. There stood a man, trying hard to appear to be a doctor, but Warren saw through the facade. Masks could no longer fool him, especially the masks he had been trained to shatter.

"Worthington," the deep voice spoke quietly as he left the black bag on the counter and proceeded closer, but Warren lifted his hand, telling him without words to remain where he was, and the man complied with his wishes. "My illusion didn't fool you. What a dreadful pity."

"Take whatever guise you may, Sinister, but I'll see through it always," Warren replied, painfully aware of the vulnerable position he was in, but he made no move to change it as the form of the doctor morphed into the dark, metallic appearance of Mister Sinister. "Why are you here?"

"I have a proposition for you." Sinister smiled sadistically, baring venomous teeth.

"I don't want to hear it, so I'd rather you just left."

"I won't double-cross you like Apocalypse did, Worthington."

"Leave, Sinister, I do not want to hear it."

"You're dying!" Sinister snapped as Warren continued to stare at him coldly, reacting little to the blatant fact Sinister obviously felt the need to state. "Damn it, boy, hear me out! I can give you back your life, and I can free you from Apocalypse forever just as easily."

"So what? Then I get to live and serve you? No, thank you. I fell for that line of crap once, and it is never going to happen again. Do you understand? Whatever you hoped to accomplish here isn't going to happen, so I want you to leave. Now."

"I only want from you what Apocalypse gave. In you is held every secret I've never been able to discover on my own, and I want it. In return, you can return to your life as if nothing had ever happened. I don't care about you, Worthington, but I won't let his legacy die with you."

Warren's eyes flared in disbelieving rage. "Is that a threat?"

Sinister grinned an evil smile. "No, not if you give me what I want. Think about it, Worthington, think about what you'll gain. You'll get to live the rest of your life with your precious Psylocke, and that's what you want, isn't it? You want to live out those marriage vows you were going to exchange." Sinister neared Warren, and with an icy breath, whispered, "and the child will need a father, will it not?"

Warren turned slowly to look at the megalomaniac, his face paling dramatically.

"You don't know, do you? She doesn't either, doesn't even suspect, but my sources indicate the Worthington bloodline will not die with your valiant sacrifice." Sinister laughed a wicked laugh and stood back up, his cape flowing behind him. "So I ask you again to think about what I'm offering."

Warren remained quiet, terrified under the watchful eyes of something Sinister. This is how it had started with Apocalypse, a simple question with promises of boundless gifts in return, but what made this narcissist anything different from his creator? Was there any difference?

"No."

"What?"

"No! I'm never going to allow my life to leave my control again. I may not want to die, but I'm not going to willingly give myself to you. I don't know what you were expecting from me, but it's not going to happen."

Sinister sighed deeply, looking upon him pityingly. "Consider me humbled, Worthington, I didn't think you had it in you. I am dully impressed, but make no mistake, this won't end anything. It will all be in vain, and do tell your precious Betsy she'd be better off disposing of the child than giving birth to the miscreant." Sinister turned to leave. "Oh, and a final two things. Don't think this will stop me, Worthington, I never said I needed you to be alive for what I want."

"And your other last word?"

"I'm the doctor, aren't I? And you do have to eat. I'd hate for you to die of starvation before it's your time to go." Sinister grabbed Warren's arm and plunged the needle in his wrist, hitting the vein. Warren muffled his cry of pain, sinking slowly into the tub, but Sinister pulled him up before he was fully submerged, leaning his devilish face close to Warren. "Believe it or not, I envy you, Worthington, you found the loophole that would allow you to die. I was never that lucky, and perhaps, just perhaps, you won't be either."

Sinister melted back into the form of the humble doctor and stopped at the door, looking at Warren, who had placed a hand over the tube that fed his veins, his eyes closed as his breath came in laboured breathes, and Sinister smiled, "fear not, Worthington, for nothing ends when it comes to monsters like us..."

* * *

Betsy waited half an hour after the doctor left until she went to check on Warren, and was surprised to find him still sitting in the now-cold water, legs crossed and his body hunched over with his head dipping down so she couldn't see his face, but their rapport was betraying his feelings even as she tried to filter them out for privacy's sake.

"Sinister," Warren growled, shaking his head, "that was Sinister."

Betsy grabbed the bag of intravenous fluid, fearing he would hurt himself with his careless gestures. "I'm sure the visit from the doctor couldn't have been that bad. I wish you'd give them a chance. They're not all out to get you."

Warren's head rose slowly and he gaped at her before laughing in spite of himself. The laugh wasn't happy, and it was barely a laugh at all, but he began giggling insanely even as he found himself at a sombre crossroads.

"What's so funny?" Betsy asked, confused at this sudden change.

"That was Mister Sinister, and believe me, he was far worse than a doctor," Warren mumbled, crossing his arms out in front of him, smiling at Betsy's innocent mistake. Betsy sat on the rim of the bath, running her fingers through the water. "It's not as cold as it feels. It's rather nice once you're used to it."

"What did Mister Sinister have to say?" Betsy asked calmly, though inwardly she could barely contain the dread that continued to build. As if Apocalypse wasn't enough, Sinister insisted on involving himself, too.

Warren's head flopped to the side and he sighed thoughtfully. "The usual, 'give me your life, and I'll save you but not without a price' bit. I turned him down, of course, because, well, I can't trust a man who calls himself Sinister."

Betsy ignored his sarcastic tone. "Anything else?"

His lips pursed in a perplexed manner, he nodded, pushing his blond hair out of his eyes as it sought to blind him. "You should abort the baby you're carrying."

Betsy inhaled sharply, nearly falling from her perch and into the icy water. "What?"

"He says you'd be better off killing it than letting Apocalypse get to it," Warren repeated quietly, closing his eyes but not before a single tear could escape. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I know you didn't want it, so I guess now you have good reason to be rid of the damned thing."

"I'm pregnant?" Betsy asked in shock, bringing a hand to her head as she tried to clear her mind of the unexpected development. It had been in the back of her mind, the realisation that she had made herself vulnerable to pregnancy, but being where she was, knowing that mistake had bred a life, she wasn't sure what to think anymore.

"So he said."

Betsy stood and walked over to the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. A halo of pink appeared around her face as she attempted to scan for the traces of life Sinister claimed she held within her, and at first she couldn't find anything, at first, but as she probed deeper her mind happened upon something that hadn't been there before. "Oh, God, it's true."

Warren cringed at the abominable whisper, hating himself for doing this to her. Everything had become so horrible, and it seemed for every good thing that cleared their souls of the dark spots dwelling within them, a worse one happened to fill the void.

Betsy turned to him, her purple hair flowing behind her as she moved gracefully toward him, kneeling next to the bathtub. "I'm not going to abort the baby, despite what Mister Sinister may say. I want it."

Warren looked skeptical, for their recent conversation had been burned in his mind. It seemed like only a short while ago, yet it had really been many days since they spoke about children. Could she have changed her mind so drastically in that short time?

"I want it, Warren, I want it."

"Are you sure?" Betsy motioned her certainty, and Warren's face grew more bleak with the knowledge. "Without me, it's going to be hard. Apocalypse is going to want it." Betsy nodded her assurance, sincere in her desire to have the child, and Warren smiled, stroking her face as his continued to grow more serious. "I could... I could accept Sinister's offer if that's what you wanted."

"No!" Betsy said with heated emotion. "No, I don't want you to do that. You made your decision, and so long as I know it's what you want, I'll accept it. I'm not going to ask you to condemn yourself because of my selfish needs."

"They aren't selfish," Warren corrected her gently. "It's nothing more than what I want, but try as I might, I can't deny it would be the wrong decision in the end. I want to live, for the first time in my life I want life so badly it hurts, but I know just as well I have no choice but to give it up. It's the only way I can release myself from the contract I made with my soul. It was the only release I could find, even after all my searching."

* * *

On the twenty-eighth day Brian finally tracked down Doctor Woodrow, and after examining Warren for a better part of an hour, he emerged into the hall looking grim. Betsy's hopes were dashed immediately, for if his face wasn't plain enough with the truth, his mind was.

"You have one very sick young gentleman in there," Doctor Woodrow said, stating the obvious but feeling compelled to do it anyway. "I've left you with a supply of fluid, so his body gets some nutrients, and a supply of morphine for the pain, but there's little I can do now to help him. His fate has been sealed.

"The best we can do now is make him as comfortable as possible, and please keep his spirits high and light. Depression would do the boy no good now, but from our talk, I can safely say he's not at high risk for melancholy. For a man about to die, he's facing it with more grace and courage than I thought a person could. From what I gathered, he's also incredibly lucky. He shouldn't have survived a week. You've got a fighter on your hands."

"A survivor," Betsy supplied, smiling at the unhappy news. It was odd the things that made her content, but with so little time left, she had to find enlightenment in some form.

"That he is. Make sure he gets plenty of fluids and keep him warm. They're predicting more snow to hit in a few days. I might not get to see him again if that is the case." Doctor Woodrow paused, looking from Brain to Betsy, letting his eyes rest on the woman. The story had been told to him of her incredible change, and though he still found it hard to grasp, he knew this was Elisabeth Braddock he was staring at. He had delivered her into the world, and her twin brother Brian before her, and their older brother Jamie before them. He knew the Braddock clan as well as they knew themselves, if not a bit better. "Elisabeth, I want you at my clinic to see me in a month or so to check on the baby."

"If I'm still in England, I'll be there," she responded, catching the look on Brian's face. When she had first told him the news, he had nearly stumbled over with shock, but now it only initiated a mediocre effect.

"And Brian, it's time for your checkup, boy, and I'm not going to be chasing you around to get you to come in. I'll sic Nadia on you if you don't make any appointment in one month's time."

"I promise I will."

Brian picked up the doctor's things, and they headed down the stairs, their bodies disappearing in the distance until they were gone.

Betsy walked into Warren's room, shivering at the dimness held within. For her, darkness was unbearable, but the light bothered Warren's eyes and made him ill. The dullness was the compromise.

Carefully, she lay down beside him, and he turned his head toward her. She could see the pain in his eyes. Doctor Woodrow had told him it was better he lie on his back, and with little fight, he did for the first time in fourteen years. It was anguish.

"You're slipping away so quickly, I can't keep up," Betsy murmured, cradling his face in her hand. "I try to imagine what my life will be like without you, but I'm unable to see anything in the dream. It's nothingness.

"For this past week, I've felt our child grow, but every time I think about it, I can't help but cry. I don't know how to raise a child. What if I make a mistake? What if it hates me for what I am? What if it hates you for leaving?"

"You'll do fine," Warren muttered, patting her hand to assure her. "I know you, Betts, and I know you'll make one hell of a mother. Our child will be fine, with or without me, and I am happy just knowing that."

Betsy smiled, stroking her flat belly with her free hand as she snuggled up to him, careful of his ailing body.

"And, if it is a boy, don't name it Warren. I hate the idea of the name carrying on. A middle name is fine, but I don't ever want a Warren Kenneth Worthington IV to come into existence, okay?"

Betsy smiled and reached over into the night table, withdrawing a book. "While we're on the subject of names, I have some ideas. Would you like to hear them?"

"I'd nothing more than that." Betsy kissed him, and together they began reading through the names, stopping occasionally to laugh at the bizarre names or argue over the good ones, and for one brief moment in time, the Death was forgotten and replaced by love, and joy, and hope for what might someday come.

[next part]

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