Release, Part Nineteen

by Tangerine

The sun shone brightly on the morn of the fourteenth day at Braddock Manor. It was fantastically warm against his usually cold skin, and Warren smiled slightly at the welcome change, feeling especially invigorated that morning after the dreadful day yesterday, for yesterday he had woken to sickness. It had been the first morning he had felt too horrible to get out of bed, and it had been a harsh reminder of his impending mortality.

"Do you ever think about having children?" Warren asked absently, sensing Betsy awake to morning and able to feel her bright yet equally pensive thoughts rattle in his head.

"I've thought about it," Betsy replied slowly.

"Yeah, so have I." Warren's hold of Betsy tightened gently as he held her to him, and she put her hands on his arms, rubbing his skin with her fingers. "I never thought I'd want a child, I guess I didn't, but now, I don't know, maybe something's changed."

Betsy closed her eyes tightly, praying he'd stop with these wishes that could never be. He had to cease pretending he was alive when he wasn't. He couldn't let a dream delude him from the truth that his body was dead and with it, their future. "Please don't talk about this, not when it's never going to happen, Warren."

"Oh," Warren breathed, "I'm sorry. I didn't know. Then how could I? We've never discussed it. Candy couldn't have children, either." Warren voice dropped off, bitter memories of her washing over him. When she had died the first time, he had wanted nothing more than to avenge her, but then she kept coming back again and again, and it hardened him to her memory, and now, after everything, he wished only to see her as she had been before Apocalypse had corrupted her.

Betsy turned in his arms, staring at him in mild confusion at his words. "Warren, I am perfectly fertile. It's you who can't have children."

"Where did you get that absurd idea from? Sure, my body's pretty messed up, and I'm sure my sperm isn't much better, but Hank assured me I'd have little trouble sowing my seed." Warren's eyes narrowed as Betsy's opened wide in the apparent horror of realisation. "What? What is it?"

"I stopped taking the pill," Betsy muttered, inwardly chastising herself for being so stupid to make assumptions. She stumbled out of bed, a hand to her forehead, and sat on the edge of the bed, crouched over as things continued to become too real for her.

Warren's face paled slightly, and he stared for a moment at her naked back turned to him in defeat. He hadn't thought she'd ever come to that assumption, not when they'd always been so careful before, and he knew the truth then, and now she knew that, too. "We haven't really... I mean, you and I... we only made love twice, right? There's a really good chance nothing will happen."

"And if is does, what am I supposed to do then? It only takes one time, and it's been two times, Warren, two. God, how could I be so dense to think it was okay?"

Warren crawled up behind her then sat, his feet dangling from the tall mattress, looking despondently to the ground. "Would it really be so bad to have my baby?"

Betsy turned to him quickly, clasping her hands on his and holding them tightly, alarmed he would think that was the reason for her sadness. "It would be the most wonderful thing in the world, but we can't ignore the fact that I'd most likely be raising this child on my own."

"And it would cause problems, I understand," Warren concluded, unable to hide the disappointment from his face though he knew how wrong it would be to do that to a baby. He stood to grab his robe, and putting it over his pale, thin body, he turned to her. "But if I was going to be around, could it happen?"

"It would," Betsy responded, and Warren nodded, disappearing into the bathroom. Betsy exhaled loudly, placing her head in her hands, and she remained that way until she heard a muffled groan from the bathroom. Jumping to her feet, she ran in to see Warren collapsed on the floor, clutching at his chest, digging his nails into the flesh. "Warren?!"

"Oh God, it hurts," he muttered, biting his lower lip as he curled into a tight ball of pain, gasping with laboured breathes. Betsy dropped to her knees beside him, holding his hand to help him ride out the extreme waves of agony.

Suddenly, his body went limp, and Betsy caught his head before it hit the porcelain tub. Holding him in her arms, she brought him to the bed, putting him back to sleep, and she realised that perhaps this wasn't a good day after all.

* * *

Warren woke up three days later, having battled a horrible fever with the aid of Betsy and Brian as they struggled to nurse him back to health. Betsy was asleep on the other side of the bed, and Brian was unconscious in the huge lounge chair by the window. The positions they slumbered in were identical, and Warren couldn't help but smile faintly at the serene picture.

Warren stumbled over to the desk, nearly tripping as he went, and grabbed a pad of legal- sized paper and a pen. He walked unsteadily into the hall, and grasping the railing as a lifeline, he proceeded slowly down the stairs. He knew he should rest, but he had to do something first, something he had been meaning to do for weeks. Time had run out, and though it wouldn't go as he planned, it would still happen.

Warren sat down at a table and slowly began to write. So engrossed was he in the words, he failed to notice Brian appear and begin to watchfully hover over him. Only when he caught the sight of the huge Briton out of the corner of his eye, did Warren stop what he was doing.

"I'm impressed that you'd risk Betsy's temper to write whatever it is you felt compelled to write," Brian said simply, sitting in the chair opposite to Warren's position. "Mind if I inquire just what exactly it is?"

Warren looked to it then pushed the sheet of paper toward him, and Brian picked it up, beginning to read slowly through it. As every line progressed, his expression grew more and more perplexed until he finally gave the letter back to Warren, staring at him incredulously.

"Yes, I've left all of Worthington Enterprises to you and Betsy. I guess you won't need that merger after all." Warren stared at Brian, who continued to gape. "Please, say you'll take it. I can't bare to think it'll all go to waste. I know if I don't leave this to somebody who knows what they're doing, the Government's going to take it and some mutant hating bastard will get it all."

"This is a multimillion dollar enterprise. You can't just give it to us."

"Can't I? Because that's what I'm doing," Warren replied calmly, feeling a bit nauseous with every word he spoke but ignoring it and continuing to talk despite the discomfort. "I don't have the time to go about this the right way. Betsy's my beneficiary anyway. She'd get it all, but I know she doesn't want it. If I leave it to both of you, you can do with it what you please. I don't know anybody else who has the skills or the brains to keep it afloat. It helps support a lot of... underground activities. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Brian nodded, realising what Warren was trying to do was give him was the role of mutant saviour and philanthropist all in one. "Then you'll take it?"

"I'll take it." Brian took something from his pocket and dropped in on the table, letting it fall before Warren, who took it in his hands. "The mail carrier brought it. It's from America, one of your friends most likely. Tell Betsy when she wakes I went to town for groceries."

Warren nodded, barely paying any attention to what he was saying. Slipping a finger under the flap of the envelope, he ripped the paper inside free. A gold ring fell onto the table, and Warren put his hand over it before it was able to roll to the floor. Picking it up between two fingers, he stared at it for a moment before turning his attention to the note.

Warren,

I found this, in the loft, while I was cleaning up.
I'm not stupid; I know what it is. Any moron in
his right mind would realise what it is. I'm only
sorry this had to happen. I thought you might
want it for whatever reasons. I meant to give
you it when you left, but I forgot. I'm so sorry.

Bobby

"It doesn't matter now," he replied, using his hand to shield his face from her stare because it was too much to bare after everything else that had occurred.

"It matters to me."

"I waited too long, Betts. I was going to ask, and I kept meaning to, but I was such a coward, and now it's too late." Warren buried his head in his crossed arms on the wooden table as he continued talking. "I love you more than anything, but I could never find the right time, the right words, and then all this happened, and Candy was right. You wouldn't want to marry me anyway."

Betsy pulled his arms away from his head, smiling gently as she stroked his face with her thumb, and he kissed the palm of her hand. "If you had asked, I would have said yes. I would have said yes, Warren." Betsy looked down for a moment before her head rose, and having made the decision, she stared deeply into his eyes. "I will say yes."

Warren's eyes opened wider, and he found himself without words yet again. There was so much he had wanted to say to her, to proclaim everything he felt in his heart. Perhaps if he just started talking, something meaningful would come to his lips.

"I know we don't have much time together, but I can't think of anyway I'd rather spend it than wholly and completely with you. You are my world, Elisabeth Braddock, you are my heart, you are my soul, you are my life. Without you, I cannot exist. Without you, I wouldn't want to exist, and I would be honoured if you'd consent to be my wife."

Betsy dabbed at her wet eyes with the hem of her shirt, attempting to wipe the grin off her face, but she couldn't because for one brief, insane second she forgot the reality and accepted the lie that this was more than a play of words and emotions. To her, this became real and within her grasp.

She threw her arms around him, frantically kissing his face and neck. "Yes, Warren, yes."

Sitting in his lap, though still supporting the majority of her own weight, Warren slid the ring onto her slender finger, kissing it with warm lips, and they sat there as they were for hours, comforted by the sound of each other breathing, happy in the warmth of happiness, for it negated everything else that could harm them, even the harsh truth that a wedding, their marriage, could never be.

* * *

It was on the twenty-first day that something changed dramatically. It was the first, and the earliest, snowfall of the English Winter, and the moors had been coated with a pure, white blanket of cold. Since the early hours of the morning, the snow had been falling like gentle tears from Heaven to completely change the world as it stood unaware, and unsuspecting.

In the early evening, Warren sat hunched over the toilet bowel, vomiting violently as Betsy rubbed his lower back, murmuring comforting words for his ringing ears. Brian had been on the phone with the doctor, who had advised what to feed Warren when Warren had been unable to hold anything down for two days, and a single suggestion had yet to work. The doctor was on his way over to feed Warren intravenously.

Warren gasped as he moved back against the wall, accepting the glass of water Betsy offered him. He knew it would most likely end up seeing the light of day again, but he had to get the horrid taste out of his mouth.

Betsy let the hot water run into the tub, preparing Warren a bath for his ailing muscles. The stress of the illness was taking a hard toll on his already weak frame, and Betsy could see how he was struggling to walk now, how he fought even to stand. His life was becoming a constant battle, a terrible battle that continued to go steadily downhill.

"Here, let me help," Betsy said quietly, undressing him with careful hands. She could see in his eyes how much he despised the situation he was in, but he never fought her help. The truth was plain to both of them.

He hadn't a choice anymore.

When she went to help him across the bathroom and into the water, he pulled away, muttering with a wounded voice, "I can do it myself."

Warren stood on shaky legs, using the wall for support. Taking a step, his knees nearly buckled, but Betsy made no move to help him. Until he asked, she would do nothing more for him.

Warren took another step, his eyes half-closed in concentration as he kept his hand to the wall. He stumbled again and swore in frustration as Betsy watched on with a disturbed expression. To see him fight with his failing body, it was almost too much for her to bare, but she'd never turn from him. She wouldn't abandon him that way.

"Betts," he whispered finally, and immediately she was there, supporting him when he couldn't find it within himself to do so. He hung to her, wiping away her tears as she helped him into the tub. "Thank you."

"Betsy?" Brian called, and she walked briskly to meet him in the hall. Behind him stood who she presumed to be the doctor though she had thought Brian was getting Dr Woodrow, who had been the family doctor for as long as she could remember. "I couldn't find him, Betsy, so Dr Essex volunteered to come in his place. I explained everything to him on the way up the stairs and then some in the hall, too."

Betsy eyed the unknown man suspiciously. He was of average height, of an average build, of average everything, but there was something about him that put her on edge, but she would have to make do with what had been given to her and ignore her intuition for now. After all, she had been known to be wrong, on rare occasion.

"Ms Braddock," the doctor greeted her, holding out his hand in hello. She took it and shook briefly, almost pulling away in disgust at the touch of his cold skin. It was so much like touching Warren but without the humanity. "Where is the patient?"

"In the bathroom," Betsy responded, gesturing to the open door. Dr Essex nodded, and holding his medical bag close to his body, proceeded toward the opening, and Betsy followed, but he placed a hand on her arm, which she immediately shook off. "I would prefer if I could examine him alone. I promise you, Ms Braddock, he is in very good hands."

Reluctantly, Betsy didn't move as the doctor disappeared into the bathroom, but her eyes followed every move of his body until he left her sight. There was something about that doctor, the calm yet malevolent look in his black eyes, the way he moved like liquid, the cold and smooth texture his skin held. There was something wrong with him.

"Please trust him, Betsy, he came very highly recommended. His credentials are impressive and next to unbreakable, and besides, we've been left with no other choice. Warren needed medical help and he was the only option open."

Betsy heard the words Brian spoke and paid little attention to them. She trusted her instincts, and her instincts told her that man wasn't all he appeared to be, but as Brian had said, there was no longer a choice, and she would have to live with Dr Essex's unwelcome intrusion if it meant Warren would be helped, and he would get what he needed because she had felt that and that alone in the doctor's mind. Whoever he was, he would do what he came to do, and Betsy hoped that was all that would happen tonight.

[next part]

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