Undercloak: Part Fifteen
by queenB
"Whom are you looking for, Beloved? Why do you gaze behind you? Only we two remain in the entire world."
Nikos Kazantzakis, The Last Temptation of Christ
During her time on this earth, as a telepath, as a hero, as a woman, Betsy Braddock has come to realize that reality is a subjective term. Thoughts are as liquid as water, skimming quickly between this world and the next. Perception is the one thing that holds them tightly between levels of understanding, levels of tangibility. Thoughts are as incorporeal as the soul that thinks them... yet they are the one true thing in the universe.
But Psylocke is not thinking of the nature of reality at the moment. Her only thoughts are of the face inches above her own and the words falling from those lips.
"You are my love. You are my life. There was nothing before you and there will be nothing after."
Sheets twine tightly between her legs, sweat beads on her skin. And for a moment, time ceases to exist. She is wanted. She is loved. She has never wanted anything else.
She runs her hands through his hair and arches her back, her neck, her whole self as she sighs, "Warren."
"Betsy."
White wings hover over her, their softness and velvety reality comforting her, reminding her of everything that is him. When she was young, she always dreamt of dancing with angels, of touching the stars in heaven. Now, thanks to Warren, she thinks she knows what that feels like.
No one ever told her how dangerous the lure of perfection was. Not that she would have listened.
She reaches out to touch his face, to feel his warm skin in her palms, to imprint this moment forever on her memory. As she extends her fingers she is greeted with icy nothingness and hears as if from a great distance, "Betsy? Where are you!?"
Sitting up straight in the blackest darkness, she responds to his voice. "I'm right here, love. Warren?"
She opens her eyes, or at least she thinks she does. The view she finds is even darker than the hidden world behind her eyes, even sparser than the blackest night. There are no stars for illumination.
She calls out again, "Where are you?"
From behind her, she hears, "I'm right here, dearest."
Suddenly, she realizes that she is out of their bed and on her feet with Warren standing behind her. Though she can barely see him, she knows it is him. She can feel his familiar form as she touches him, the feathers of his wings lightly tickling her bare shoulders.
As she reaches up to touch his face, he grasps her hand tightly and pulls it away as she says shakily, "Why did you leave me like that? You said you'd never leave me alone in the dark again."
She feels his lips brush against her ear as he whispers, "And you aren't alone. Never alone. We're all here with you. We won't ever leave you alone."
The darkness abates a little and his skin is radiant with an ephemeral glow as he kisses her fiercely, savagely. Betsy closes her eyes again, enjoying the closeness of him for just a moment until it becomes too much. She tries to own the kiss, turn it toward the soft passion she has always loved with Warren. And though the ferocity of his movements is exciting, it is not him. As she tries to control the moment, his passion becomes more out of control and she feels his teeth sinking into her lower lip.
Finally, she pushes him away as she declares, "That's enough! Stop it!"
Wiping a few drops of blood from her mouth, she opens her eyes to look at her lover again as he speaks, now wearing the face of another, "Are we playin' too rough for ya, darlin'?"
Psylocke blinks as she stares into the face of Logan and tries to get a grasp on her bearings. His face contorts into the form of another, now a six-armed woman with white hair and a menacing grin. Spiral reaches out to touch her purple hair and Betsy swats away one of the woman's many hands away as the time witch purrs, "What? Are we frightening you, pretty one?"
Betsy glares at her as she seethes, "I am just dreaming. This is just a dream. I will wake up and this will all be over."
The form in front of her contorts again and she is left staring at the face of Thomas Lennox, the first man she ever loved. The man who died while she was in his mind. The man who almost took her with him to the other side.
She is left speechless as he stands in front of her, shock and pain creep into her features as he smiles and says, "Maybe this hurts too much. Is this any better?"
Suddenly he becomes her brother Brian, then her brother Jamie. She turns her head away, not wanting to face the twisted shadow play, when she hears another familiar voice. The dream-specter has changed again.
"Ms. Braddock? Betsy?"
She can't help but look as she sputters, "Doug? Is that really you?"
He stands quietly, his eyes searching the dark mass of nothing that surrounds them, and asks timidly, "How did I get here? Will you help me?"
Something inside Betsy's heart wrenches and she goes to him, taking him in her arms as she whispers soothingly, "It's okay, Doug. It's just a nightmare. Soon I'll wake up and this will all be over."
He looks up at her, his large eyes filled with tears as he asks, "And then I'll be gone?"
Holding him tightly, she buries her face in his short hair and says, "No. You will always be with me. I will never let you go."
She feels his body twist in her grasp and closes her eyes as she steels herself for the next incarnation. As she loosens her hold, she hears mischievous laughter in her ears as she gazes on the visage of Matsu'o Tsurayaba. He grasps her head tightly between his hands and says, "And I'm glad... because I have always loved this face."
His laughter pounds in her brain as she lashes out, ramming the heel of her palm into his face and screaming, "I am not your toy! I am no one's plaything!"
The face contorts again as the laughing continues, this time its timbre and pitch rising maddeningly. Betsy isn't sure how much more of this she can take. If only she would wake up and this terrible charade would end.
"You always were such a defiant little girl," giggles Slay Master as he slaps her hard across the face.
Holding a hand to her now stinging cheek and nursing a bruised eye, Betsy seethes quietly to herself as she holds her breath, hoping she can will herself out of this nightmare. As if he can read her thoughts, the green-clad man says, "Oh no. It won't be that easy. We have a tight hold on your heart."
He plunges his hand deep into her chest as he turns into the intangibly-gifted Shinobi Shaw. Staring defiantly into his eyes as his cold fingers grip her heart tightly, she grimaces, "You don't own me."
As he pulls her still beating heart out of her chest, she collapses to the ground of her amorphous dreamscape. A scream doesn't even escape her lips as she looks up into the face of Warren as Apocalypse's Angel of Death, his metal wings shimmering almost beautifully in the half-light of her nightmare as her blood drips from his hands.
"Oh, dearest. But we already do. You are nothing without us."
The words echo in her ears as she sits bolt-upright in her and Warren's bed. The early morning sun streams into their room as she gets her bearings, heart beating loudly in her ears and perspiration dotting her skin. She feels as if she is going to be sick.
She springs from the bed, trailing knotted, sweaty sheets behind her as she dashes for the bathroom. She leaves the light off as she turns the sink's faucet on full. The cold floor penetrates her bare feet as she lets the basin fill with water. She is not going to be sick, she is just shaken, she tells herself. She is just shaken. And she plunges her face into the cold water, hoping its iciness will bring her fully back to reality.
She then sits on the cold floor and presses herself against the wall, the cold tile against every inch of her naked back. Closing her eyes, she takes deep, controlled breaths hoping relaxation techniques will succeed where rationality cannot.
"You are in control," she whispers quietly like a mantra. "You are in control of your own life."
After a few seconds, she looks up to see Warren standing in the door, the bedroom's light filtering radiantly through the edges of his wings. She jumps when she sees him, the images of her dream still fresh in her mind. After the initial shock of his appearance subsides, she says almost pitifully, "I had a nightmare."
Obviously taking her words as a cue, he kneels beside her, his large wings nearly filling the wash room area of the oversized bathroom. She lets him take her hand in his own as he says softly, "I know... I could feel it through the rapport. I don't know what it was about. But I can tell it was terrible."
Betsy sighs deeply as she presses her head into his chest and says, "I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about anything."
He holds her tightly for a while and his wings slowly start to wrap around her protectively. Her breath catches in her throat as she feels the world get smaller around her. She knows it is just a reflex of his, something that he has started doing since he regained his new wings. She thinks under other circumstances, she might find it very comforting.
"Warren, please. Not now. This is just too much."
He pulls away from her, obviously hurt and dejected. She knows all he wants is to help, but she cannot be confined right now. So she tells him, as she watches his face in the dim light of the bathroom, "I'm sorry. I'm just still getting over this dream. It's not you at all."
Warren stands up, unclothed like Betsy, and turns on the bathroom light. They both blink from the sudden glare and he tries to look as dignified as possible, though it is obvious that he feels slightly uncomfortable and embarrassed by his vulnerable appearance, even after all the time they have been together. Little does he know his manner makes him all the more endearing to Betsy, healing over some of the fears left behind from her dream.
He turns to leave the room and says quietly, "Yes, this is about me. At least a little. There's enough of you inside me now for me to know that."
Still sitting awkwardly on the floor, Betsy reaches out to his departing form and says, "Warren, I..."
But he is gone. She hears him say from inside the bedroom, "You are my love. You are my life..."
So that much was real.
"... I will be what you need me to be."
Getting to her feet and preparing a bath, she whispers, "Thank you, Warren."
As she turns on the faucet and the hot water spills into the tub, she hears him in her mind telling her gently, *You're welcome.*
She steps into the hot bath and washes away the sweat and anxiety of her nightmare as she senses from his thoughts that when she is finished he will be waiting for her. They will have breakfast together on the warm balcony and everything will be fine. After all... he loves her. And that should be enough.
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