In the Mood

by queenB

For them, the act of making love had always involved barely spoken whispers falling from parted lips, the gentle rhythm of warm breath on even warmer skin and the downy softness of feathers. Sex was always a part of it, but there was more to their actions than lust. They shared an understanding, a bonding that was almost impossible to put into words. So they acted on it instead, showing each other through an almost desperate connection what no words, no thoughts could ever completely express. It was full of fire and aching truth and a million frenzied desires. It was wonderful. No, it was perfect.

But that was yesterday. Today it is just too much.

Betsy Braddock sits up in bed as she says to her lover, "I can't do this right now."

He stares at her as she sits not a foot away from him, her long purple hair cascading almost violently down her back. He can't see her face, but he knows that she is crying. He watches her silently as she gets out of their large bed, pulling her silk kimono from a nearby chair and walking to the bedroom door. She pauses before she leaves, her back still to him, and apologizes meekly, excusing herself like an ashamed child. Warren Worthington then closes his eyes as he clutches the sheets tightly in his hands and his heart quietly breaks.

He was afraid of this. As if things weren't difficult enough with her transformation by the Crimson Dawn, she had now lost her telepathy. And it was tearing her, tearing them apart. For a moment he thinks about just hiding under the sheets he holds tightly in his hands, thinks about just letting her go, letting his world go back to the way it used to be. And then he remembers how much he detests how it used to be. Without her.

So he gets out of bed and pulls on a pair of pants thrown absently to the floor only minutes before. He then looks at himself in the mirror, staring hard into the reflection of his eyes, and realizes he doesn't look as tired as he feels. He feels so very tired. It would be so much easier to give up. So much easier just to say good-bye. But life is not easy and would never be, this much Warren knows.

He finds her sitting at a desk in the drawing room, re-reading a recent letter from her brother. Standing in the dimly lit doorway of the room, he observes her with her head bent over the paper as she trails her long fingers over a photograph Brian sent with the correspondence. He thinks it must be a picture from Brian and Meggan's wedding.

It should be simple enough for him just to take her in his arms and tell her that everything is going to be alright, that it isn't the end of the world. But he knows life isn't simple either, and that for her it probably seems like the end of the world right now.

Finally he walks into the room and Betsy jumps slightly in her seat. She is still easily jarred without her telepathy. Her reliance on her psi-powers made her other senses weak in comparison. He knows that it annoys her to no end.

As he sits in a large over-stuffed chair near the desk, she appears still engrossed in the photograph as she says, "You didn't need to come check on me. I'm fine really."

He looks at her unblinkingly as he says, "No you're not."

She lifts her head to gaze at him, her purple eyes glazed with the last bit of tears, then turns away again and says, "I don't want to talk about this."

Dropping his hands into his lap, he states defiantly, "I do."

He watches her as a lock of purple hair drops into her face and she pushes it behind her ear, only to have it escape again. She brushes it out of her face as she turns to him and says, "Fine. I'll ignore you while you talk about whatever the hell you want."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before he says calmly, "Betsy."

Still looking at him, she quietly snaps, "What?"

"It's okay. It's alright to be angry. It's okay to be scared."

She looks at him for a long while in silence, letting the photograph slip from her fingers. Her jaw tightens as she presses her lips together. He watches the agony creep into her face and says, "You don't have to hide it from me, Betsy."

Her eyes widen for a moment before she retreats back into her own distant world. He looks at her as she rises out of her seat and walks to the room's large window. She wraps her arms tightly around herself as she watches the snow fall outside, its large, white flakes blowing upward, caught in a strong updraft against the building: violence dancing with delicate beauty.

She stands like that a long while, her darkly-painted fingernails digging into the blue and silver of her kimono. Warren hangs his head in defeat as he sits bare-chested across the room, his large wings drooping as much as his spirits.

She is making his decision for him.

He assumes all the fight was taken out of her in her war with the Shadow King. If he were to save the love between them, he would have to do it on his own. And he can't fight this battle without her.

So he gets wearily to his feet, taking one last glance at her blank reflection in the glass. He closes his eyes once more and sighs quietly, knowing that walking away from her will not be as easy as he thought. But as he walks from the room and toward the dark hall that leads away from her, from them, she says, "I have to hide from you, Warren. You more than anyone."

He steps back into the light of the drawing room and asks, "Why?"

"Because I'm not the same woman you fell in love with all those months ago."

He walks closer to her, her back still to him as he says, "I see."

Her breath clouds the glass in front of her as she blurts out, "We can't keep pretending that everything is okay. It's best if we just accept it and move on with our lives."

Standing next to her at the window, he watches as the wind swirls a gust of snow past the glass. He shivers as the reality of winter, of life and its many seasons settle in his thoughts. He asks quietly, "Is that what you really want?"

He feels her eyes on him as she says sadly, tears threatening to fall, "I don't know what I want anymore."

He pulls her close to him, logic no longer driving his actions. He just knows that this feels right, that holding her close and breathing in the smell of her is all he wants right now. For a moment, it seems like all he has ever wanted. He can feel her shaking in his embrace, finally succumbing to the pressure building behind her eyes. It is too much, he thinks. Too much for one person to handle alone.

He holds her tighter and he feels her hands on his back as he presses his cheek against her soft hair. She squeezes him just as tightly, letting her tears fall on his bare shoulder. "Oh, Warren. What am I going to do? I feel so blind and lost."

"You're going to go on, Betts. You're going to do what you've always done. You're going to survive."

She sniffles and laughs nervously as she breaks their embrace. Letting his arms drop to his sides, he watches her as she walks away from him and sits on the room's large, leather couch. "I just don't feel whole anymore. I feel like a stranger."

She looks up at him and he sits next to her as he says, "It'll be difficult. But you will get used to it. You are who you are after all."

Wiping her eyes, she stares at him, pondering the weight and sincerity of his words. He returns her gaze, looking directly into her purple, almond-shaped eyes. Hers is a face he knows will always be emblazoned into his thoughts and memories. He reaches out to touch her cheek and to his amazement, she doesn't flinch. He studies her face, her lips, her nose, her dark purple lashes, even the red tattoo covering nearly a quarter of her face. Yes, she has changed. But he still sees that fire in her eyes he knows has always existed, even before he ever noticed it. No, she is wrong. No matter what she thinks at the moment, she is still the same woman he fell in love with a little over a year ago.

He takes his hand away from her face and says, "You'll be okay, Betts. I know it."

As soon as the words leave his lips, he expects a back-lash from her. He watches her as she crosses her arms defensively over her chest and fumes, "And how can you know, Warren? How can you be so sure? You have no idea what I've lost."

He holds his tongue, knowing she would expect him to launch into a tirade about the loss of his wings, about knowing what it feels like to lose something that is a part of oneself. But he knows she knows this. He leaves that part of the conversation unspoken, knowing it, like many other things, is understood. After all, this is different. This is about her. So he says simply, "Because of what you did. Because of why you lost your telepathy. That is why I'm so sure."

Looking at him in confusion, she sits silently as he continues, "Betts. You're the bravest person I know. You willing gave up part of yourself for what you knew was right. You willingly gave it up. If you're strong enough to do that, you're more than strong enough to face the consequences."

She closes her eyes for a moment, the reality of his statement apparent on her face. Dropping her hands into her lap, she bows her head and stares at her open palms. Noticing the effect his words have on her, he continues, facing the truth and sincerity of his thoughts as they fall from his lips, never really knowing his feelings until he puts voice to them. "And I am proud of you, Betsy. I am glad to know you. Overjoyed to love you. I can't imagine being without you. It breaks my heart when you hide from me. It makes me feel like I'm not enough."

Looking up at him, she suddenly reaches out and takes his hands in hers. She shakes her head as she says, "Oh, God. I am so sorry. This has never been about you. If anything, you're too much."

He stares hard at her, his blue gaze unwavering from her purple one. "You deserve to be happy. If I don't make you happy, let me go."

Turning away from him again, though she still holds his hands tightly in her own, she says softly, "It's just so hard. Especially now."

"We never said it would be easy."

She lets go of his hands and gathers the soft fabric of her robe into a fist as she says slowly, "No we didn't."

He pulls his knees to his chest as he awaits her next words, letting his wings stretch high over his head and hoping tonight won't be the tragedy he fears. For the first time in a while, he knows they can be happy again, if they will only allow themselves to be.

Betsy takes a deep breath and releases it before she starts, "Warren, you used to be my light. My angel. When we were together I knew everything would be okay. Whatever might happen, I always had the feelings between us to cling to. And it was beautiful. And then I changed. And then you reacted to me and everything started falling apart. And now we are here and I can't feel anything from you anymore, when all I want to feel is alive..."

Closing his eyes, he presses his wings close to his body, trying hopelessly to make the chill that is penetrating his skin go away. As he hears no sound but the angry beat of his heart in his ears, he tells himself that he is not going to let her see him upset, that she doesn't deserve anymore guilt on her already heavily burdened shoulders, that he can go on alone, as difficult as it will be to let her go. He won't do that to her, even if it destroys him.

And then he feels the light pressure of her hands on his knees, and he knows that she is still talking to him. He begins to feel as if he is caught in the chilling wind outside the walls of his warm apartment, like he is being sucked down a cold and icy tunnel and her words are the only thing that keeps him from falling. So he clings to them and as his eyes flutter open and he sees her in front of him, her face filled with vivid emotion. She seems to be pleading with him, so he desperately grasps onto the sound of her lilting voice and to the words, "...I want to try."

She pulls his hand to her heart and says, "I want to feel you in here. I want to try."

As he comprehends what she is saying, he blinks and his breathing returns to normal. He somehow finds the words to say, "So you want to learn to love me the old fashioned way? In a sense, start all over?"

She smiles for the first time that evening and nods as she says, "Yes. Will you show me?"

A laugh escapes his lips and joyful tears come to his eyes as he says, "Yes. Oh lord, yes!"

As he pulls her hand to his face and kisses it, she says, "So you're not disappointed that I want to take it slow... learn to be with you all over again?"

He shakes his head as he smiles, "Not at all, my love. Not at all."

She climbs up on the couch next to him and presses her lips almost timidly to his and he marvels at the radiance of her. As he returns her kiss, he notices a million tiny things about her: how her hair tickles softly against his chest, how her skin is softer than the silk she wears against it, how her lips fit against his as if they were made for him alone. And then he thinks how perfect an evening this turned out to be after all.

Betsy pulls her face away from his and he asks with a smile, "How did that feel?"

She smiles shyly and says, "Nice. Warm."

So he puts an arm around her and they watch the snow fall outside, safe and warm behind frost-glazed glass as he says quietly, "That sounds like a wonderful beginning."

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