Undercloak: Part Five

by queenB

Tonight has been very odd, even for Warren Worthington III. He's discovered an infestation of living shadows within his apartment, had an out of body experience, and temporarily lost his psychic rapport with his lover. Happily the shadows are gone, his mind is back in his body where it belongs, and Psylocke has partially re-established their psychic link. However, you can still imagine why he's a bit anxious.

Ever since Betsy originally established the bridge between their minds, Warren has never experienced its severance. The episode was jarring to say the least. He has begun to rely on the heightened awareness resulting from the empathic link. It has made him feel more vital, more completely conscious than he has ever been. The sky seems bluer and the grass, greener. Every inch of his body knows it is alive when he is bonded to her. He understands exactly why the world is so beautiful to Betsy, even during the period when she was blind.

When the rapport fell apart so suddenly and dramatically, he felt as if a layer of dust had settled over him. Nothing was as clear as it had been just seconds before. All of his perceptions became hazy, like he was viewing the world through smoked glass.

It is safe to say that he now understands why Scott would always whine and fret whenever he was psychically cut off from Jean. Luckily there wasn't anyone here to whine to, so he spent the few awkward moments brooding, an activity in which he has gained professional status.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was in actuality only a matter of minutes, the rapport has returned weakly like a subtle perfume, still lingering lightly even when it's wearer has left the room. Though comforted by the soft familiarity that is slowly re-integrating with his thoughts and growing stronger by the minute, Warren is left wondering what has just happened and hopes that Betsy is safe. Remembering how brusque she was with him in regards to her condition and the fact that last time he investigated it almost got him killed, Warren is hesitant to search for her. Still, he is worried.

He mutters to himself, "Warren, stop being juvenile. She needs you." He tries his best to rationalize getting involved in Psylocke's hypothetical dilemma, thinking, 'Why else would she have pulled me into her thoughts like that? She needed my help then, and might now...'

Releasing a heavy sigh, he walks to the closet and begins to change into his Angel costume. If he is going to investigate, he isn't going to do it in a bath robe and boxer shorts. After he's mostly suited up and wrestled one wing into the uniform, he begins to doubt himself. After all he's been through over the years, insecurity is still one of the issues hanging on his personal magazine rack.

'What if she needs her privacy? Out of all the things she's lost in her life, her space is the one thing she should be able to keep sacred. Lord knows, she valued her time alone even before Sabretooth. If she needs me, she'll let me know... Unless she already did with that mental stunt she pulled?'

Still half-clothed, his uniform's empty sleeve hanging by his side, he groans in frustration and walks to the room's large- paned window, folding his arms over his chest in exasperation. He can barely see the city outside; instead the harsh lights of the room turn the glass into a mirror. He catches his reflection and looks, really looks at himself. He sees an idiot, someone so afraid of loss that he is paralyzed. He wants to do something good for once, make all the demons go away, protect someone with all he is worth, but in this case... He wonders if he has the right and if he has, does he even know how?

He's amazed at how petty his inner argument seems, how easy it should be to just to fly out over the city and look for Betsy. 'After all, she's probably just on the roof... But I don't want to start imposing my own insecurities on top of everything she has to deal with... I wonder if she's even thinking of me at all?'

Tired of over-analyzing himself and the situation, he decides he should talk to someone about the day's events and his feelings on the matter. He abruptly leaves the window, picks up the bedroom phone and presses the first number listed on his memory dial.

On the roof, only a few feet over Warren's head, Betsy and Gomurr are having a major discussion. After the unnatural shadows subsided from the pavement, we can imagine that Betsy was left with a myriad of questions. And finally she's getting some answers.

"So, the reason my emotions have been dulled recently is because of my contact with the Crimson Dawn?"

"Yes, child."

Psylocke pulls the fabric of her kimono tighter and picks at a tassel hanging from the garment. Tired of living oblivious to her own condition, but hesitant to learn the full truth, she asks softly, "Why?"

Gomurr is used to speaking in half-truths and riddles about such delicate, mystical matters. It is normally the custom of such beings as he to speak as obtusely as possible. No doubt, they all get together on the weekends over a bottle of whatever these all-knowing types would indulge in and laugh about how they have befuddled the humans once again... I can see the Oracle of Delphi now, drunk as all get out, bragging about the stink Oedipus's search for his father's murderer raised.

But Gomurr has taken special interest in this one. She seems a very original case to him and he approaches her situation with a magical understanding, an eerie connection, that falls closer to his heart than he would openly admit. Twisted by magic into several incarnations, she hardly knows who she is anymore... this one has suffered enough. This one deserves the blatant truth. He owes her that much.

"It is corroding away your personality on purpose, child. The reason you've made it this long without going completely insane is not only are you stubborn, but your genes are more than human. Your father's mystical blood runs in you."

"But this body?"

"The time witch, Spiral, did more than switch your minds with the one you call Kwannon. She mixed your essences together as well as your bodies. That is why you still retain your Otherworld abilities in this body. You are a physical amalgamation of two."

"How do you know all this?"

"I've done my research."

The small wizard walks to where Psylocke is sitting on the pavement, and pats her on the shoulder. "Do not worry about this, child. Even though your mind is clouded by the Dawn, it is still your own. All that remains of Kwannon is the few things you've refused to let go of. Her combat training is perhaps all. Maybe a stray memory or two besides. Nothing of consequence. She saw to that with her death."

"Well, that's one less thing to worry about." Psylocke shifts her weight, tucking her legs into a lotus position. Over the course of Gomurr's explanations she has stopped fiddling with her clothing. Now she speaks more confidently, "Gomurr, I want to know exactly what the Dawn is doing to me."

Gomurr settles down on the roof-top in front of her, removing his hat and placing his staff gingerly across his lap. "Make yourself comfortable, child, this could take a while."

"Hello? Xavier Institute."

"Hi Ororo. It's Warren. How's the fort holding up?"

"Fine, fine, Warren. We are still busy with reconstruction. Those of us who are in residence are living in the basement and sub-basement, save Scott and Jean. It seems the boat house was left unscathed."

"Ha! Of course it was." Warren fidgets with the antenna on his cordless phone, moving it up and down methodically. The metal pieces scrape against one another, squeaking like rusty tin.

"Other than that, it is the same soap opera you are used to."

Squeak

"...Except now we have a new player..."

Squeak

"...You have met Joseph, have you not?"

Squeak

"...Yes, you have..."

Squeak

"...I do remember now..."

Squeak

"Warren?"

Squeak

"Warren!?!"

Startled, he almost drops the phone. "Sorry, Ororo. I'm a bit distracted. Listen, is Hank there?"

"I believe he is, wait just a moment." He half expects to hear the weather goddess belt out Henry's name in order to retrieve him. Instead, he hears a comm panel crackle to life. It seems they have indeed been hard at work in their reconstruction efforts and the reserved Ororo will not have to resort to shouting.

Right now, he's glad Storm answered the phone instead of Rogue, who's always done things the old fashioned way. He doubts his ears could handle Rogue's 'hollerin'' with the mood he's in.

"I am sorry, he is not answering in the medical lab. Let me try another avenue."

Warren paces back and forth in front of his dresser, still not fully dressed, as Ororo attempts to locate Hank through the mansion's security system.

"Hello, Warren? Yes, he is in the medical lab. The computer reports that he is asleep. Presumably in front of his Legacy Virus research. Shall I wake him?"

"Uh, no. That's probably the only sleep he's had in days. Don't worry about it. Is Bobby still away?"

"Yes, but his father is improving."

"That's good to hear. I should call and see how everything is."

After an excruciating pause and several squeaks from Warren's end of the line, Ororo finally speaks, "Warren is something troubling you?"

"Um, no, well... not really."

"I know we are not the closest of friends, but I do care and might be of some aid?"

"I don't know, Storm. I don't think... nevermind."

"I do not want to push you... but, it sounds as if you called here wanting to talk. I may not have a solution to your problem, but I do offer you my time. I have been told I am a good listener."

After trudging over the same area of carpet for the last few minutes, Warren finally sits on the bed, shaking one of his booted feet in time to some unknown beat. "It's Betsy."

"Has something happened?"

"Uh, yes. I... I guess it has."

"Go on."

He relaxes a little, letting his wings droop against the sheets of the unmade bed as he begins his story. "You know how Betsy's been distant lately and there's been a lot of weird things going on with her powers and such?"

"Yes?"

"Well, I think things might be getting... um, but they might not... I just don't know."

Hoping not to prod her teammate too much, but growing tired of his hesitation, Ororo offers, "Maybe it is best if you just tell me what is going on, Warren. It might be easier for you that way?"

"Okay, I'll just come out with it..." He takes a deep breath. "She attacked me last night and nearly killed me and tonight I encountered some kind of living shadow in our apartment and she pulled me into her head. Then our psychic rapport went dead and now it's back and she's not anywhere in the apartment and hasn't been for while."

"It sounds as if you have had an eventful twenty-four hours."

"That's putting it mildly!"

"I am not implying that it is unimportant. Warren, why are you on the phone with me instead of looking for her?"

He hesitantly mumbles: "Because I think she wants to be alone."

"Pardon me?"

"I think she wants to be alone."

"True, Elizabeth is a very private person. But she is going through a very difficult period in her life. And you and her have a special bond... Has she told you she wants to be alone?"

"Earlier, yes."

"Before you encountered all these strange happenings?"

"Yes."

"Warren, I think I should come over there. It sounds as if she is in trouble."

"No! Um, that's okay. I've handled things like this with her before. It's just that, well, things are getting more difficult to understand. It's like nothing has a logic to it anymore. I don't think any one of you... I'm probably the only one that has the slightest idea of how to help her. I am... I need to go and find her... Thanks for your help, Ororo."

Ororo confusedly mutters into the now dead connection, "Warren?" and slowly hangs up the receiver.

Back on the roof, Gomurr and Psylocke are actually having a conversation that makes some sense, at least to them. "And the shadows from just a while ago? They were my creation?"

Gomurr now levitates a few inches above the asphalt, in order to be at Betsy's eye level. "They were a little more than that, child. You are magnet for their darkling energy. When you are distracted, as you were then, you become more attractive to them. Right now I am helping your telepathic powers keep them away, so we can have this little chat. Nice of me, no?"

Gomurr grins broadly, proud of his manipulations and accomplishments, but Psylocke is not amused. "Gomurr, what are those things? They're different than the shadows I normally deal with."

"The difference is, child, when you do your shadow hopping... which you are very proficient at, by the way. And with no guidance! I am truly impressed."

"Thank you... you were saying?"

"Yes, yes. Ahem. The difference is, is that when you use the shadows for teleportation you are merely changing the nature of the space the shadow occupies. The shadow is just a small vicinity for you to manipulate. You use the darkness as a tool, a way for your body to travel from one place to another. No more, no less. After you are done with it, after you have used the magic you now possess because of the Crimson Dawn, it is the same as it was before, a dark reflection of a real object."

"So, I change normal shadows into a type of vortex when I teleport? But when I have traveled through it, it returns to being an ordinary patch of darkness?"

"Exactly."

"And these other shadows?"

"Child, these beasties are alive. They are more than space being blocked from light. They contain a very large amount of the magic you use in only small quantities when you dance between shadows. They are darkness incarnate."

"These things are evil?"

"Ah, ah, ah." He wags a bony finger. "Though you have the body and training of one from the East, you still think in such blind Western patterns. How could you possibly think you were ever this Kwannon ninja..."

"Gomurr, please?"

"Yes, well. They are not quite evil. They are darkness. That is what they are. Are you familiar with some eastern philosophy? Taoism? Yin and Yang? The balance of light and dark in all things?"

"Yes."

"Mostly rubbish... But correct in many respects. Well, these shadows are unbalanced. Too much dark. Not a good thing, but that doesn't mean evil. Just not right. Hmm... make sense?"

Psylocke nods her head slowly, "Yes, I think I understand. But where do those shadows lead? What were those voices I heard?"

"They lead to the realm of the undercloaks, the darkness of the Crimson Dawn. The voices, the calling? It was them, child."

"Why did they want me so badly? Why did I want them?"

Pulling his staff upright and levitating in a standing position, Gomurr becomes much more serious as he answers: "It is Tar's doing. He is trying to call even your debt to his realm. But he is, what do you say? Cheating, stacking the deck? He is trying to take you without the ceremonial challenge. He is dominating your own inner darkness and sending his shadows and undercloaks to do his under-handed business, trying to make you vulnerable enough to ruin yourself. And that is why I have intervened."

He lowers himself to the ground and dons his hat, his face broadening once again in an almost toothless smile. "You could call me now 'Gomurr the Arbiter'."

"You have told me of this debt before, but a challenge?"

"Yes. The person who has been touched by the Dawn must return to face its Proctor, who is Tar, in order to pay the debt in full. As you can imagine, few have ever willingly submitted their soul to the proctor. Every one always tries to get out of it somehow. It's been such a pain over the ages, that once Tar was promoted to Proctor, he decided to have a test or challenge set up so people would stop all their sniveling. He doesn't like that sort of thing very much. And he's very impatient, that's why he tried to take you unawares. Much less bother that way. But we can't have him breaking tradition, it is most unfair and that is why..."

"Yes. Yes. You stepped in. Why do you care?"

"Well, Tar and I have this way of getting under each other's skin. It is a rather fun sport. We 'ancient' types have to do something to keep from being bored to tears."

In frustration, Psylocke gets up from her reverent position in front of the old master. She storms to the roof's edge, propping her elbows on the building's waist-high edifice and glares angrily out toward the World Trade Center. As she hears Gomurr approaching behind her, his silk robes swishing in the wind, she fumes: "I will not be a toy!"

"Child, child! You did not let me finish. True, the fact that I became interested in this case to begin with is due to the rivalry Tar and I share. But I have taken it farther than that. I am here to intercede on your behalf because this has gone too far. None of this is your doing. You didn't even ask for this! It seemed unfair. So, I am doing all I can."

"If I accept this challenge, will the debt no longer apply?"

"I am afraid that either way, you lose something. But this way you are free to choose your own fate."

Betsy still refuses to face the old man, and after a moment he settles on the ledge in front of her. "Our privacy is about to be interrupted by the Angelic one you call Warren. I am almost done here, for now. You should know that between now and the test, I will keep Tar's manipulations away from you. Your mind will be more your own and no more shadows will threaten you and your lover."

"That seems fair."

Betsy feels the familiar tingle in the back of her mind as Warren nears them, and the psychic rapport becomes stronger again. While he is still far enough away not to hear, she asks Gomurr: "When is this challenge?"

"On the new moon."

She looks up at the narrow crescent moon suspended in the sky: "But that's..."

"Two nights from now, child. Do not attempt to run from this, you can't."

"I know. I wouldn't dream of it."

Warren nears them and flashes a cautious smile in Betsy's direction. She smiles back and motions for him to join them, then speaks to Gomurr just loud enough for him to hear.

"And Gomurr? I am not a child."

"Ah, but you are to me."

Warren approaches the pair, placing his hand gently on Psylocke's shoulder, hoping his action doesn't seem too possessive. *Is everything okay?*

*For now.*

His lips brush lightly against her ear and he whispers, "I was worried", before nodding respectfully to Gomurr: "Arigato, Sensei."

"Hah! You crack me up! I'm not even Japanese... silly Americans." Then, bidding Betsy a "Good joss, child", Gomurr de-materializes into the night, disappearing in a haze of mist.

Psylocke's thin kimono offers little protection against the chill that is now hanging in the night air, and she begins to shiver. Reaching his arms around her from behind, Warren pulls her close to protect her from the cold. "What was that all about?"

She leans her back against his stomach and welcomes the warm embrace, reveling in the temporary freedom Gomurr has given her from the Dawn's effects. "I'll tell you about it later. Right now, let's get some rest."

Leaning his head down to rest on hers, he buries his face in her purple hair and is greeted by the subtle scent of jasmine. He draws her tighter to him, grateful that she is safe and slightly embarrassed at his earlier trepidation and cowardice. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here with you."

"Some things you can't help with, luv."

"But still..." He lets his thought trail unspoken, he knows she understands.

The couple stand there a few moments, enjoying the view and the simple closeness of one another. Lacing her fingers through Warren's gloved hand, Betsy sighs heavily. Warren squeezes her hand in return and then relaxes his embrace. Reluctantly, he drops his hands to his sides and breaks the relative silence of the New York night, "You go on in. I'm not feeling very tired... Maybe I'll give these new wings some more practice. It's a beautiful night. I'd hate to waste it."

She turns towards him and observes the sad expression on his face. How long has he looked like this? How long has it been since she's actually noticed his feelings, his frustration? She is overwhelmed with how patient he's been with her through this whole ordeal, acknowledges how much of a strain this must be for him. Tentatively, she runs a finger down the line of his jaw to his chin, captivated by the sudden tightness of the muscles, as if he were clenching his teeth together. She looks up, hoping to make eye contact but his eyes are shut tightly, his blond lashes, stark against his blue skin. She thinks, 'It's as if he's in pain.'

More adventurously, she touches her fingertips to Warren's lips and marvels at how warm they are, how alluring. As she moves her face closer and presses her lips to his, kissing him more passionately than she ever thought she could again, she feels the wet sting of tears on her cheeks but is not sure if they are hers or his. '...God, I had forgotten this...' and through their rapport she sends,*Why don't you stay here for now? Just for a while?*

*Of course.*

She pulls her face away from his and places her head on his chest, listening intently to the rise and fall of his breath as he gently caresses her wind-tangled hair, "Does this mean you're back, Betsy?"

"Just for a while, luv. Just a while."

[next part]

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