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Beautiful
morning. Beautiful sky. Warren Worthington the third rolled on his back,
flattening his wings, and stared out the curtainless window from his
bed. The sky was calling to him. His delighted smile broadened.
~Why
not?~
"Betsy?" He touched the shoulder of the woman sleeping next to
him.
~She's so beautiful too...~
"Love? Wake up." She blinked awake with a start, looking
annoyed as she slowly sat up and glanced at the clock.
"God. Don't tell me we've got a mission..."
"Uh -no. No. I just thought - you might like to come flying with
me. Watch the sun rise...?" his voice tailed off as she glared at
him furiously.
"Warren, you _do_ know what time it is?" Her voice was cold as
she pushed her hair out of her face.
~Maybe not such a good idea...~ he thought, his heart falling. ~But
we've been so distant lately. I thought - maybe spending sometime
together- she used to love flying with me...~
"It's just - going to be such a beautiful day -. Sorry. I didn't
think." He swallowed bitterly, turning away. The joy he'd felt on
waking, on seeing the clear sky, and the first light drifting into the
room, seemed to dissipate under her angry stare. He left the bed softly
and went to the window, although he no longer really felt like flying.
He was tired of flying alone.
~Screwed up again Wings. Idiot. Should've suggested a picnic or
something, not a pre-dawn swoop...~
"Sorry." He said again, trying to keep his frustration out of
his voice. "Go back to sleep. "Betsy watched him turn away
from her, sensed his deep disappointment, and suddenly found herself
wondering just why she was being such a bitch.
~Yes, so it's an ungodly hour to be feeling romantic. But it seems like
ages since there was any romance between us at all. So why am I stomping
on it? Bound and determined to ruin your relationship, are you
Braddock?~
She made her decision suddenly, and hoped it wasn't too late.
"No." She came up behind him, and put her arms around his
waist, hugging him in apology.
"No, _I'm_ sorry. Let's fly. Just let me put something warm on
first, okay?" He turned and looked at her, his mood rising again.
"Are you sure...?"
"Yes. Why not? I think I've lost my sense of spontaneity Mr
Worthington. Although, then again, it could be that it just isn't
working properly at _5 am_..." She couldn't keep a small measure of
sarcasm out of her voice, but her tone was warm, and she smiled as she
said it.
He ducked his head, mock wincing in embarrassment at the dig.
"Okay, okay..." he looked at her from under the tangled blonde
hair that fell over his face, and smiled his love at her.
~I love you too.~ she thought, feeling it, and wondered why neither of
them seemed to say it out loud anymore.
He held her close as he flew through the cool morning air, treasuring
every second of it. The feel of her body against him, and the scent of
her hair, and the sound of her delighted, breathless laughter as he flew
circles high above the school. For once he felt he could put away all
the troubles that plagued them on the ground, their fights and their
pasts; his depressions and her mood swings, her anger and his angst. He
smiled again, unable to stop, finding it suddenly all so easy to ignore.
Leave it on the ground. Just love the sky.
Because it was going to be such a beautiful day.
Such a perfect day.
He whooped for joy and threw himself higher, stretching his perfect
wings through the perfect sky, holding the perfect woman - who wriggled
and gasped at his antics.
"Warren!" Betsy protested, half laughing, half angry. He
glanced down at her and grinned infectiously. "Ah, relax, why don't
you Ms. Braddock. I'm not going to drop you, I promise. "She glared
at him, her hair a whip in the wind, but her mind brushed against his
affectionately. He closed his eyes a moment, leaning into holding her,
opening his thoughts to her.
Leave it on the ground. Love the sky, love.
They spun through a cloud of birds, scattering the flock in all
directions, then slowed a little, gliding on winds so soft it felt fora
moment he was drifting on the pale sunlight that was gently filling the
air. He never wanted to go down again.
Love the sky.
But then suddenly there was static in his head, painful noises that he
could make no sense of, messages he couldn't translate, too many voices
speaking at once, too much, too much, and he yelled for Betsy to stop,
and then realised it wasn't Betsy, and then stopped thinking at all.
*helskwrrqaweloyskwehelcyoiiolokwhshhhellonnicomsewlcemmmeshelloleplo*
He screamed without hearing his own voice.
Betsy slid into shock as she felt his arms drop from around her, hands
going to his head as he suddenly swooped downward. She stifled a yelp,
and tightened a death grip around his neck as her body fell from his
strong embrace.
~Oh my God... he let me go...~
<<Warren??>> she yelled telepathically, but she couldn't
touch his mind. Some sort of static seemed to be clouding it, and he
answered none of her calls.
"Damn it Warren. You did just promise not to drop me you
know..." He ignored her, screaming again as he dived through the
sky at a sickening speed. She held her breath as she altered her
position, swinging her legs around his waist and clasping her hands
around her wrists firmly. She breathed a sigh of relief, feeling
slightly more secure, and tried once again to reach Warren's mind. He
continued to fly his strange patterns, his attention utterly taken up by
whatever was attacking him, his arms flailing wildly about his head.
~Nada. Well. Time to call for some help, I suppose.~
She sent her mind call out to Jean, sleeping in the boathouse, far too
far below, and shortly saw a streak of red come barrelling up from the
ground. The woman called Phoenix kept pace with them for a moment,
looking astonished at Warren's bizarre behavior, and Betsy's ungainly
hold on him.
"What the--. No, never mind. It's not as if this sort of thing is
rare around here..." The other telepath grabbed Warren and Betsy
both in a telekinetic hold and began to pull them towards the ground.
"Ahh - no -. I -. Oh my god. My god. Betsy?" Warren's arms
came around her frantically and held her tight. His fierce embrace cut
off her air, but she welcomed it.
"What - what the hell just happened?" his blue eyes looked
panicked as he stared wildly between her and Jean.
"You tell me love." She managed to say lightly, not letting go
of him. He seemed himself again, but she had no intention of releasing
her hold until she was safely on the ground again.
~Even if it was rather exhilarating...~
"How about we wait until we're down, okay?" Jean said calmly.
"I'lltake care of it Warren, you - you just lie back and think of
England or something." Despite the situation, Betsy almost snorted
with laughter at Jean's slight, knowing smile. She'd often wondered if
any of the others knew how many times she and Warren had made love in
the sky over Salem Centre.
But Warren was entirely too shocked to be amused.
"What do you mean _`you don't sense anything'_?" He demanded
angrily of Jean twenty minutes later.
"There was someone - some - thing, in my head! _Something_ --"
he stopped in frustration for the countless time in the those twenty
short minutes, trying to find the words for the `something' that had
invaded him with such ease, and words for the invasion itself.
"Warren, all I said was, that I can't find any trace of someone
having been in your mind recently. _Or_ anyone nearby - and neither can
Cerebro. If some telepath attacked you -"
"I said it wasn't a telepath!" He snapped. "I've _been_
attacked by a tepe before Jean, I think I know what it feels like! I
told you, it was _nothing_ like that!" She paused a moment before
continuing.
"Okay. So what was it like?" Her tone was calm, but seemed to
suggest, very gently, that if he didn't change his, she'd soon change
hers, and that he probably wouldn't like that. He stopped again, and
tried to stop taking his anger and fear out on her. He hated the idea of
being violated like this all over again. Hated even more the thought
that neither Jean nor Betsy had felt anything, and still couldn't. And
therefore, could offer him no protection if it happened again...He threw
himself down on Jean and Scott's sofa once again - and then jumped up
again, to wander their living room restlessly. Something out there had
attacked him. Only...
"It didn't - really - feel like an attack." He mused slowly,
trying to recall the sound of it, the feel of it. "It was more
like... I don't know. A... message. Or something. Only it hurt,
because... I don't know. But - I don't think it was _meant_ to hurt
me."
"A message?" Scott frowned, entering the conversation for the
first time in some minutes. "But if it was intended to be heard, if
someone wanted to communicate with us, then why didn't Betsy hear it
too?"
"It wasn't _meant_ for her -" Warren dismissed him irritably,
caught in his thoughts - and then stopped yet again, hearing his own
words. "...It was just meant for me..." he continued slowly,
to himself.
~Meant for _me_...~
For a moment he thought he heard static.
"Sorry, what did you say Scott?" He turned to the other man
absently, shaking the noise away again. Scott looked at him curiously,
but repeated his question.
"What did the ...message... sound like? Could you get any sense
from it at all?" Angry words leapt to his tongue at the doubtful
tone in his friend'svoice. He knew Scott was simply being typically
circumspect, trying to get all the facts, and wasn't questioning that
he'd experienced something. Nonetheless, the sceptical note irritated
him. But he felt Betsy's hand on his arm, and held the words back, for
once.
"It didn't sound like anything." He simply said shortly. But
in his mind he turned the question over and over, and tried to answer it
again.
~But it _didn't_ sound like anything. Except - sort of - ...hello...?~
The discussion went nowhere after that, and there was little else that
could be done. Warren was quietly watched for a while, and the house
stayed on careful alert, but the days went past without incident. And if
Warren occasionally heard things that weren't there, he passed it off as
stress and his imagination, and told himself he was ignoring it, because
to do otherwise would mean telling the others.
And, for some reason, he found he didn't want to do that.
Scott took him off active duty for a few days, `just to be sure', and
Warren didn't make a fuss about it - at least not after Betsy had
telepathically made a few suggestions of what they could do with the
time. But she was spending the morning in a training session, and so he
wandered the house, feeling restless and jumpy, knocking his wings into
walls and doorways with unusual clumsiness. They felt like lead on his
back today - which was frustrating, but not especially unusual. Though
he'd long since come to adjust to the weight, there were still, rare
days when it felt alien and distant from him once again. A throwback to
the early days, when his wings had been new to him, and dealing with
them had been a full time occupation.
He smiled slightly. They'd made his life hell in many ways; he'd been
forced to bind them tightly down under his clothes, and avoid close
friendships and relationships for several years for fear of being found
out. It had been uncomfortable, and frightening, and very, very lonely.
And he would never willingly have given them up, even then.
Still, he shrugged his shoulders in irritation, feathers rustling at the
movement. The weight felt too heavy and the noise felt too loud. Days
like this, the only thing that helped make them feel natural again was
flying - and he realised with a start that it had been days since he'd
done that.
~No wonder I feel weird. How long has it been since I spent this long on
the ground, on purpose? I'm not sure I ever have...~ He paused, oddly
reluctant, for once, to leave the house.
~What's the matter?~ he asked himself mockingly, ~You frightened? Gonna
add flying to your little list of things to have nightmares about?~
The thought was repugnant, alien.
No. No way. He was not, would never be, frightened of the sky. He
wouldn't know how. It was his home. It was who he was.
And if there was something the slightest bit odd about that thought,
something the slightest bit out of character, he didn't notice, only
went to the nearest window and threw himself out. And up.
The flight left him refreshed - after he managed to relax and stop
expecting to be attacked at any moment. He glided to the ground near the
lake and sank to the grass to catch his breath. His breathing slowed
quickly, but still -
~Out of shape already? This is ridiculous. I can't believe I've
overreacted so badly to one weird little... incident. I'm telling Scott
to put me back on active duty, and he can stick his `sensibleprecautions'.~
He looked up, feeling better now that the decision was made, and watched
a flock of birds circle the mansion in less than geometric patterns. He
found himself wondering why they flew that way: around and around,
sliding through and over each other but never colliding, in long, loose
ellipses. After he watched them a while, he thought he could see
patterns in their movements, amused himself trying to predict where they
would go next. Lazily traced the lines they made with a out held finger.
Lost himself in those hypnotic, soothing, erratic shapes. Stretched his
body, and his wings and threw himself gracefully into the sky to make a
few more of his own.
Heard static.
"No - " He cried out - and it stopped. And started again,
fading in and out, as if the source was moving closer and further away
from him. For a few brief moments, it was bearable, and the noise
hovered on the edge of his mind, waiting for him to understand it. And
he felt he_could_, that he could tune into it, if he could just find the
right -frequency, that he could decode it if he could just find the
right -way of thinking.
But then it got louder. Bigger. More urgent.
*elhelsweklohellowellgocollyocmhmeshellocomwelcomwemohelyyshllyskyw*
"No - d-don't -" He lost words again, lost control again, lost
himself in the noise and the cries and the pain and the message that he
couldn't understand and -
~ -I'm trying, I'm trying, but I can't understand- ~
Someone heard, the static shifted, someone tried again.
*Hellohelhellohelloskyhellohellowelcomewelcwewelcoskymhelhellowelcome*
~I can't I can't _I can't_ -~
Then it shifted once again, the static seeming suddenly to coalesce, the
multitude of voices settling on a single, clear message - that
he_understood_.
*Hello welcome to the sky*
"Welcome to the -?" he started uncomprehendingly, and then
suddenly his gaze flew up, and focused on the circling birds.*Welcome to
the sky*
~They can't - they _can't_ be talking to me...~ he thought, staring
longingly at them - and knew suddenly that they weren't. They
weren't_talking_, he was making the words to stop himself going crazy -
but they were, oh they _were_, he realised, addressing him. And he was
hearing, for the first time.
That they liked him. Were glad to see him. Were glad to welcome him to
the sky.
"Oh." Warren breathed, his eyes shining as the message of
interest affection welcome shifted and slid through his mind, beautiful
static. "Oh god I'm so dumb. Ohhhhh. I get it, I -" he tried
to move but realised, finally, that he was held. He frowned impatiently
at Jean, who was staring worriedly at him. Where had she come from? What
was she _doing_?
*Welcomewelcome to the sky*
"Warren? What's going--"
"I'm fine. Finefinefine. Let me go please. Now_now_ please."
He tugged anxiously at the telekinetic cocoon he was encased in, needing
to be free, needing to fly -
*Welcomewelcome tototo the sky*
Jean let him go, still trying to talk to him, but he ignored
her,sweeping up to the flock, through them, he and the other birds
avoiding crashing into each other with ease. They swooped and soared; he
could feel the rush of air through a hundred sets of wings and hear a
hundred delighted `voices' chattering to him in static and sensations -
sending him the sense of air through feathers, the joy of soon to be
hatched eggs, the delight in flight from predators, in being predators,
of mornings and evenings and swooping and diving and having the wind as
the most intimate lover, as a friend, as an enemy, as aparent.
*I knowIknow!* Warren told them, excitedly, *I knowknowknow -
exceptabouttheeggs...* They laughed at him in the way of birds, and
helaughed too, like a chick fresh out of shell, new come to the sky.
*Hellohellowelcome* they offered him with much kindness.
*Thank you* he sent back, laughing breathlessly with joy again,
ecstatically feeling the distance between himself and the ground as the
distance between himself and the most hated prison.
*Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou*
*Welcometothesky*
END.
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Does anyone else remember that Archangel: Phantom Wings one-shot?
JustFYI, this was kinda sorta partially inspired by that. Kinda.
Sorta.Originally.Feedback to Poilass@aol.com
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