TITLE: Must Be The Music: Supermassive Black Hole
AUTHOR: Beaubier
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL: fastlove.for.rentATgmailDOTcom
FANDOM: X-Men: Evolution
PERMISSION TO ARCHIVE: Any time, just let me know!
CATEGORY: Drama/Romance (only… not in a good way)
RATINGS/WARNINGS: Rated M for language/adult situations
SUMMARY: Second Story in Must Be The Music. Is Warren in over his head with Aurora? Why yes. Yes, he is. Hi mom and dad, meet my crazy girlfriend who constantly fights with her twin brother in public. Oh yeah, and she's a mutant.
DISCLAIMER: I didn't invent the X-Men and I have nothing to do with Evolution. If you somehow think I do: Thanks for the compliment, mislaid thought it may be.
NOTES: This is a sort of sequel to Thicker Than Water (which was a sequel to Relativity and then Here Comes Trouble), but it's not necessary to read that saga to catch on here. I'll make everything clear. That said, this is the second in a planned series of several one shots that explore the various main characters from TTW. Some will be serious, some fluffy, some just plain ridiculous (much like Here Comes Trouble, only more disjointed.) These stories will be written in chronological order beginning a few months after the end of TTW. This second half of this story happens simultaneously with the next one in the series, "Heart + Soul." It's not necessary to read that to get this one, but it will make everything more neat and clean and satisfying if you do.
This is Warren's. If you don't like this one, please hit up the next one just the same. They'll all be completely different from each other. Except that… you know. I'm writing them all. The current line up is Wanda, Warren, Jean-Paul, Jean, Rogue, Sam, Pietro, Alex, Scott, Aurora. But of course that's subject to change if I get a bug up my nose about something.
A short explanation of what the hell I'm doing here: When I write I have music for every character. Since I suck with titles and generally get most of my inspiration/ideas from music, each story in this planned series will be named after a song (a common cop out for me.) I'll put a few lyrics at the beginning as an example of why because I'm a geek like that. But don't try and match the song up with the story ala Dark Side of Oz. I'm not that clever. I just like music.
Thanks again to Risty for the awesome beta read (not to mention her infinite patience with things that make you want to listen to Methadone Pretty while mocking them. And by them I mean the things… not the Manics… anyhow…)
00000000000000000000000000000000000000
Supermassive Black Hole
Oh
baby don't you know I suffer?
Oh
baby can you hear me moan?
You
caught me under false pretenses
How
long before you let me go?
You
set my soul alight
-Muse
Warren touched down lightly and immediately ducked into a crouch, tucking his wings up tightly against his back. The ice-sliding Popsicle whizzed over his head in a rush of cold air, howling joyfully, like a snowy cowboy.
Take that, Wayne Newton.
No time for smart remarks—the danger room was on.
There was suddenly a large gaggle of what looked very much like black shot-puts coming at his head in V formation. He looked up from his crouch, scanning the room quickly for his attacker (it could only be one person—who else could make random objects fly through the air with murderous intent?) even as he sprang to his feet, Warren pushed off the ground.
But he knew he was too late. The room was full of the sounds of the two teams battling it out for Danger Room Bragging Rights, but all that currently existed for Warren Worthington was his imminent doom. Everything else disappeared as he began his ascent with one furious beat of his wings…
One of the shot-puts caught his right calf—but not as hard as he'd expected. Jean must've slowed them down just for the impact. Nevertheless, he twisted three feet in the air trying to get his bearings—
And something else slammed into him, very nearly knocking the wind out of him. He went down in a pile of feathers and leather, wings tucking against his back instinctively.
And then he was looking up at Northstar from the flat of his back. Or the flat of his wings, anyhow.
The buzzer rang out and his heart stopped pounding. The sound of freedom. The entire room sighed and relaxed as one- Iceman de-icing, Aurora landing on the ground for the first time in a long while, Jean dropping her killer shot-puts, Cyclops taking his hand from his visor, Gambit brushing imaginary dirt off that trench coat he refused to lose, and… Nightcrawler starting his usual victory dance with Shadowcat - even though their side had lost, technically. That never seemed to matter much to Kurt and Kitty.
Dammit. He'd been doing well at the beginning. In fact, he'd nearly taken Jean out by himself at one point—till Rogue had come to her rescue with a roundhouse that had almost landed on his face. These exercises were always like that—so close to hurting each other but everyone having to use even more control than usual just to keep from it. He liked them. He liked how he was sweating in places he hadn't known he could sweat in right then, and he liked how his heart had been racing the entire time.
But he didn't like failing.
Northstar smiled down at him. His smile was always a little threatening, but this time it was less so than usual. "Not bad," he conceded.
Warren laughed slightly, still looking up at him from the ground.
Jean appeared next to Jean-Paul and added, "For a newbie," with that grin of hers that clearly said "ha-ha, I won!"
"Thanks a lot," he snorted. Newbie… he'd been here almost four months but the distance between him and the others was still obvious. Gambit had problems too, but mostly because he was used to operating alone and it showed. Warren… he just wasn't used to it yet.
But he was getting better every day. And that was what he really wanted.
"Work on that hook," Jean suggested, still grinning. "You almost had me there for a minute."
Jean-Paul reached out his hand and leaned down as if to help Warren off the ground. "Not me, but then again…"
Warren accepted the hand and let him help him to his feet, still laughing slightly. He was a little sore where Jean-Paul had slammed into his ribcage, but it would be gone after lunch. He'd gotten off easy.
Jean rolled her eyes and laughed at Jean-Paul's posturing (which wasn't technically posturing—Warren still hadn't figured out how to get close enough to the Resident Speedster to take him out), but with extreme good humor.
"You hit almost as hard as your sister," Warren laughed as he shook out his wings and got back to his feet.
Northstar actually laughed out loud. It was a strange barking sort of laugh, but it looked genuine enough. Which, in retrospect, had been the gamble. With Jean-Paul he never knew if his attempts to be chummy would be met with laughter (mocking or not), anger, or genuine acknowledgment. Jean-Paul and his sister were still strained on the best of days, a fact which Warren always assumed would bleed over into his own relationship with the volatile speedster.
It didn't really. Not that there was a huge relationship to speak of, but Northstar had been miraculously civil even after the… accident. Not that Warren had specifically discussed the issue with Jean-Paul… but it was something. Considering that he'd helped Jeanne-Marie find and get the procedure that now cut her off from her brother in pretty much every way possible, Warren counted himself lucky still to be in possession of all his limbs. Let alone cracking jokes at the guy.
"Try as I may, her fury is beyond me." Jean-Paul let go of his hand and… examined him. He had the same eyes as his sister, but colder. Calculating, Warren thought. (Thank Christ, because it might be a little odd to see his girlfriend's eyes in the guy who'd just beat the crap out of him. Every little difference between the Beaubiers counted as far as he was concerned.) He always felt like they were sizing him up, judging if he was worthy.
Jean-Paul, Warren thought, would make an excellent businessman.
"I'll see you for lunch." The speedster very nearly smiled again and walked off.
Warren nodded to him and looked back to Jean, who was waving at Bobby as he left the room. "Was I actually okay?" He asked her. He hated to sound insecure after all these months… but he needed to keep tabs on his progress. How else would he get better?
"You think Northstar passes out compliments everyday?" She winked at him. "You looked good out there."
Warren made a face as he caught Wolverine looking down at them from the control room. "Why are Canadian men so grouchy anyhow?" he groused.
Though grouchy was the least of Logan's problems, as far as Warren was concerned. The man should be on a leash.
Jean shrugged. "The cold? Anyhow I have a meeting on campus, but we'll work on stuff later in the week. You're doing great. See you tomorrow night?"
"Tomorrow night, 7pm. And thanks," he smiled crookedly at her, feeling like an idiot. But sometimes it was good to hear. Way to motivate the team, Jean.
She flashed her winning smile at him and headed off toward the locker room, stopping on her way to kiss Aurora on the cheek and say goodbye to her. He took a deep breath and a minute to collect himself as Jean left the room and Aurora came his way.
She looked great in that uniform (even if she might've been losing weight again… he'd have to feed her a lot at lunch). She'd been talking about getting a new one lately, but Warren didn't think that was such a great idea. Because this one… well the new one would hug all the curves too, but this one was… sentimental. In that he spent a lot of time thinking about it.
She looked more beautiful than ever after a work out. Her pale skin was flushed and she walked with even more catlike grace than usual, the air of confidence she wore around her nowadays ten times as thick.
Maybe it wasn't exactly what she'd been when he'd first fallen for her, but that didn't mean he loved it any less.
"Jean-Paul laughed with you!" she pointed out, taking his hand. Her fingers were small and hot against his palm.
"Yeah," he nodded, laughing. When he heard it out loud it sounded stupid. He couldn't remember a single time Northstar had been an asshole to him (well, more than he was to anyone else), but even now everyone still seemed to think it'd be coming any day.
Warren tried to think a little more positive, but when even Aurora seemed surprised it was hard. Then again… in some ways, Jean-Paul was more likely to talk to him than to her.
Which was his fault.
"He likes you," she pointed out, cutting into the decidedly morose downward spiral his thoughts were starting to take.
Thank god for her, anyhow. He squeezed her fingers and rubbed at his sore ribs with his free hand. "Lucky for me. I don't want to see how he hits when he hates someone."
Freshly showered and shaved, Warren felt like a new man.
Looking back on the training session, things really had gone fairly well right up till the end. Jean would help him out more (she'd been making a real effort with him, which he appreciated a lot since he knew how busy she was), there was a good chance Logan wouldn't be at lunch (since he'd flown through the locker room and told Bobby to stay out of his stash, he'd be gone for a few days), and Warren was even starting to feel fairly confident about tomorrow night.
Tomorrow being his twenty-first birthday.
His parents were flying in tonight (for the first time in almost a year—they hadn't come home to New York for Christmas after all, opting to spend it at the house in Kaanapali, Maui golfing with family friends. He'd been invited but declined. Beach with his parents, who still didn't know about the wings, was possibly the Worst Idea Ever). They had a dinner party planned at the Manor, involving a lot of business contacts at once in what his father liked to call "mass networking." Warren wasn't the least bit put off that his father thought his twenty-first birthday was an occasion for networking—it was no less than what he'd be expected to do himself and he was fine with that.
What made him nervous was that this was not only the first time he was going to introduce them to Aurora… but it was also the first time he was going to introduce them to the X-Men. He'd spoken to his father a few months back about the ethics of some of Worthington Inc.'s investments, and seeing what happened with that whole Wundagore Rat Screw (in which Worthington Industries had lost tens of millions of dollars in the end) his father was actually willing to listen. He assured Warren that he hadn't known mutant rights were an issue for him, that it had been pure prospecting that had convinced him to invest, nothing more, and that if Warren thought the X-Men might make a good philanthropic venture for them then he'd be happy to meet them.
Not that Warren Jr. had seemed excited, exactly. More the forbearance of a father who knew jack shit about his son but still had to hand over his empire to him some day and therefore wanted to keep him interested.
But Warren was fine with that too. Mostly.
So he'd invited a few of them—the ones he was closest to—to come to the party. Jean, Scott, Rogue and as a sort of courtesy both to Aurora and Rogue (who'd look dateless otherwise), Jean-Paul. Jean would do most of the talking, since she was turning out to be Mutant PR Central on her own campus, but Scott would be there to look stable and serious. The other two… well, they were good-looking upstanding citizens. And for the most part, his friends.
What he'd neglected to his mention to his parents, however, was that his girlfriend Aurora happened to be an X-Man as well.
He was torn on the issue. Half of him thought it was unfair to spring her on them that way… but the other half of him knew that neither of them would dare to cause a scene in public. Aurora herself had suggested that they keep it quiet till the last minute, when there would be no choice but for them to accept her. It seemed dodgy, but it was as sound a move as he could make and he knew it.
And truth be told, if they had that much of a problem with Aurora being a mutant then his doctor had been right when he'd first sprouted wings. He'd be disowned someday anyhow.
Part of him said he didn't want to be a Worthington if they were bigots.
The rest of him said they were his family. And he needed them to understand. Not that he expected them to, per se…
Well, not realistically anyhow.
Not that he was about to reveal that he was in training to be an X-Man just yet. Baby steps. He needed to convince the investors they liked the product before he went shoving extra helpings down their throats, after all.
Considering all these things, rubbing absently at his still slightly tender ribs, Warren strolled into the foyer. He didn't even notice that there were others there till he heard his girlfriend's unmistakable voice.
But she was almost whispering. "If she really wanted to she would've thought of it. Anyhow, I see how you…"
Warren stopped dead on his feet. There she was, Aurora, fresh and glowing in civilian clothes (tight, worn out jeans that sat far lower than they probably should've been able to by the laws of physics) and a tiny powder blue tank top that cut off just at her belly button. Which left her entire lower stomach open and visible. White and curving just slightly.
And with one of Remy Le Beau's hands on it.
Well, all right. It wasn't on her stomach exactly, the hand was more on her side and it was probably just because Aurora was half-whispering to him, leaning way too close for Warren's comfort and looking Remy in the eye with all her usual fearlessness. Her long bare arms were almost wrapped around him (okay, just one was over his shoulder, but it was still irritating) and she was smiling all… conspiratorially…
Warren cleared his throat, suddenly realizing that he was staring.
That was rude, after all.
They both looked up at him. Remy smiled lazily, not bothering to take his hand off Warren's girlfriend's bare belly (side, but still!) The man looked too good not to hate. It was like walking in on your girlfriend whispering into Mick Jagger's ear. Sure he was pretty dirty and way too old… but how could she not want him? The man was a Rock Star.
Aurora smiled as well, but much more brightly. He was surprised when she made absolutely no move to pull away from Gambit as she greeted him with a happy, "Warren!"
But he knew he shouldn't be surprised. Aurora wouldn't think she was doing anything wrong. He'd seen her do this same thing a million times. With Bobby (who always had the grace to look embarrassed), with Ray (who usually looked a little scared), with Kurt (again with the graceful embarrassment), or any other man who'd get close enough to her. Hell, Warren was pretty sure she even did it to Jean—though whether it still counted as flirting or not was beyond him (and not exactly as objectionable, for reasons he didn't want to go into too deeply). She'd tell him they were just talking and it was nothing and why should he be silly and jealous when he was the prettiest man in the world anyhow?
She was too good not to believe. She was too beautiful. But if there was one person here he couldn't take seeing her with, it was Remy LeBeau. The man went out of his way to be nice to Warren and had since they'd both moved in permanently, and nothing pissed Warren off more. Not even Logan.
It rankled with him that he'd flat out told Remy he didn't like or trust him after the first time he'd caught him flirting with Aurora (which, even Warren had to admit, Remy also did with everyone, again probably even with Warren himself… another thing he didn't want to go into too deeply, although it was very objectionable), yet the man refused to leave him alone. He was constantly making civil conversation and being perfectly, rationally, southern-ly polite to him. Warren's New Yorker heart rebelled at the very thought (it was far too similar to what his own mother would've done, Virginia native that she was), but so far he'd been able to manage with grunted responses and ignoring most of the man's bullshit.
But Remy just… Warren could've sworn the man thought it was funny. Always pushing it- never enough to make Warren actually go after him, but always just on the edge…
Warren argued with the blood rushing through his veins, with the very wrong, ridiculous, primitive instinct to beat the living shit out of the devil-eyed Cajun. That was probably what Gambit wanted, he told himself. To see him lose his cool in front of Aurora. Well he wouldn't do it. Just as soon as his heart rate went down…
"Aurora," said a voice behind him, strangely flat and cold.
Warren, shocked out of his unpleasant reverie by another presence behind him, looked over his shoulder and saw not one but three new arrivals. The foyer was a high traffic area just before lunch, so he supposed it shouldn't shock him.
Jean-Paul had arrived with part of his usual entourage. Alex Summers was grinning under one of his arms and Rogue was still almost-but-not-quite-smiling at something one of the three of them had said moments ago.
Warren hadn't even heard them come up behind him, he'd been so involved. Or maybe his blood had been rushing too loudly in his ears, come to think of it.
If possible Aurora's smile became even brighter. Though to Warren's knowledge Jean-Paul had rejected most of her advances to regain their former closeness (or as much of it as they could), she still always looked happy to see him in the room.
Jean-Paul on the other hand did not look so happy. He was eyeing his sister coolly.
Warren felt an odd surge of triumphant sympathy. Jean-Paul didn't like Remy touching his sister any more than he did! Ha!
"Brother! Have you all come for lunch?" Aurora grinned at the gathering crowd as if they'd all come just to see her and she was simply delighted to see them. She also pulled away from Remy. Finally.
"Totally," Little Summers declared from under JP's arm, completely oblivious to the sudden chill in the room. Odd since it was coming from the man attached to the arm he was currently wearing like a shawl.
Little Summers wasn't the quickest of kids though, Warren had come to believe. Nice kid, just… wow. Out there.
Aurora left Remy and came to Warren, who noted with a slight feeling of satisfaction that she didn't look back at the Swamp Escapee. She just came to him and took his hand and started pulling him toward the dining room. "Come, we can all get one table if we get there first!"
Remy simply kept smiling and slipped out the front door. Like the red-eyed snake he so clearly was.
Warren looked over his shoulder at Jean-Paul and saw him watching the Cajun go. There was something mixed in his expression. Warren recognized the obvious annoyance and indignation immediately – the appreciation took another moment to register, and when it did he decided there was one more thing on the "Relationships at Xavier's That I Don't Want to Know About" List..
If Aurora had ever looked more beautiful, Warren couldn't remember that day. She was a goddess in a long white cocktail dress. It cut low in the center without showing anything "objectionable" and the deeper cut to the back showed off the elegant straightness of the line of her back, with the stark white of the not-quite-shining material accenting the faint pink undertone in her perfect skin. The color also offset her dark hair with its fey? streak of silver-white through the bangs. Her hair was arranged simply but elegantly in a mostly-swept-back fashion, but it covered the delicate points of her ears The long white folds of her skirt gave the impression of a roman statue, and the lace-up strappy heels she wore on her feet finished the job. By the time he noticed that she wore the string of glowing Mikimoto South Sea pearls he'd given her for Christmas around her slim throat, he was out of breath.
She'd arrived, next to her brother, looking like… well, like more than the Worthingtons were worth, at least. And if anything, Jean-Paul looked almost as beautiful (a thought that was at once disturbing and amusing) in his perfectly-cut heather-grey suit. The lapels of his sharp jacket were almost shiny and despite the fact that he wore an (extremely loosely-tied) silken silver tie, the top two buttons of his pristine white button down were undone. His shirt was carefully tucked into pants that sat well below his hip bones in the style favored by both himself and his sister. The look on his face was cool, calculating. He looked not only like he belonged in a room full of rich stockbrokers, American business dynasty-holders and trust fund babies—he looked like he could convince them all he was better than them without a great deal of effort.
The overall effect his outfit combined with his cool produced was as though he'd just come from having extremely rushed and important sex in a closet somewhere nearby and was now deciding to grace everyone with his presence out of the kindness of his heart rather than do it again. Warren silently thanked god that Aurora hadn't taken that route with her outfit (though he had to admit again that JP would make a hell of a businessman. With that kind of style and attitude, people would fall all over themselves to get whatever he had). While she looked sexy beyond belief, there was nothing too revealing or suggestive about her. No, just a pure white statue of Aphrodite. Glowing.
He met them at the entrance with a, "Wow." He kissed Aurora's cheek (carefully, not wanting to muss her), then stepped back and looked at her one more time. Not with too much interest, what with JP being right there. "You look… amazing."
Obviously not worried about mussing herself, she threw herself into his arms. "Happy birthday darling! We've been out shopping today. Doesn't he look beautiful?"
Jean-Paul rolled his eyes. It hadn't taken a rocket scientist to figure out how much it had bothered him to see Aurora hugging, kissing and just generally touching everyone but him in the months immediately following the discovery that their powers would cancel and cause them to black out since her procedure. But nowadays you'd never know.
If you didn't… well, know.
Warren smiled at him anyhow, if a little tentatively. "Gorgeous," he assured them both. "Come in, I'll introduce you."
Jean-Paul waved one hand, "I'll wait for the others. Scott just called to say they're parking his car."
That was probably for the best—if he could introduce Aurora now, he could wait till after dinner to spring all the X-Men. He nodded as he gently (and reluctantly) extracted himself from her arms. "All right. You ready for this?"
She flashed her smile. That brilliant smile that made his knees weak. "I've been ready forever, Warren. Let's meet the parents."
Her confidence was almost as stunning as her dress and face, he realized. In fact, seeing her next to her brother now was even more like looking at twins than it had been… well, before. When she'd still been Jeanne-Marie and Aurora had only been a momentary flash in her eyes. Neither of them had a worry in the world for anyone else in the room.
Sometimes he genuinely loved her so much, he almost wanted to be her.
Almost.
"Okay."
"Good luck," Jean-Paul tossed off nonchalantly, eyeing the crowd up and moving off to the side. Toward the champagne.
"Thanks," Warren said under his breath. He thought he was going to need it.
Aurora patted his arm as they walked toward the other side of the room. "Warren, please don't be nervous. I'll behave. I picked this dress out especially to make me look rich and demure."
He couldn't help but grin through the nervous feeling in his stomach. Looking at her… well it was hard to imagine how any parent could approve. She was glowing confidence, class… and she was so blindingly beautiful. "I'm not worried about you," he assured her. Only then did he realize that he actually wasn't worried about how she'd behave and never had been.
He was worried about what his mother would say. Because if she made one snide comment (which Katherine Worthington was known to be able to do—she'd broken up wedding showers with one catty remark), he was afraid he'd do something foolish and dramatic. And now wasn't a time to be an X-Man. Now was a time to be a Good Son.
"Whatever they say," and she leaned on his arm a little more heavily, smiling up at him, "It doesn't matter anyhow. We don't need anyone else, do we?"
He shook his head. "No. That's not why I want this to work though…"
She squeezed his arm. "I understand. I'm here, love."
She looked so certain. How could a goddess be wrong?
0
"Mom, dad, this is Aurora."
Katherine Worthington turned first, her second glass of champagne gripped tightly in diamond-encrusted fingers. She looked, as usual, as perfect as money could make her look. Her lips were a little too puffy and her eyes were a little too open.
But Warren still thought she was mostly beautiful. In that way that moms always are—particularly when you've been away from them for any significant period of time.
Katherine's eyes, a non-descript blue-grey by nature now augmented by dark blue contacts, ran over Aurora once. Twice.
And then she smiled. And Warren knew she approved of what she saw.
Not that he cared if she didn't, of course. But he'd be lying to himself if he didn't say he was relieved.
Warren Jr. turned immediately following and simply smiled his businessman-smile.
"So this is the girl we've heard so much about." Katherine reached out and took one of Aurora's hands, squeezing it gently. "Oh, you are beautiful."
Warren decided not to look at Aurora for that moment. He was afraid he'd laugh. And he knew she would too. She wouldn't be able to help herself. Mainly because both of them knew very well he'd hardly told his mother anything about her—and Katherine Worthington said that she'd "heard so much about you" to everyone she met.
Warren Jr. spoke up then, nodding and raising his own barely-touched champagne glass in Aurora's general direction. "A pleasure to meet you. We never get to know any of Warren's friends since we're out of the country so much."
He had that… tone. That light pleasant one he had when talking to any of his associates, really. Warren wasn't sure his father had friends. Just associates.
But if his cordial-yet-detached tone bothered Aurora in the least she didn't show it. She was smiling brightly at each of them in turn, squeezing his mother's hand and letting it go after the appropriate length of time… doing everything right. "I feel the same," she assured Warren Jr. "I'm so glad you're in town for Warren's birthday."
Katherine smiled indulgently. Not quite genuine but, Warren was quick to note, as genuine as it was going to get in tonight's room full of stock brokers and string quartet. "Are you in school, darling?"
Already with the darling. And it hadn't even sounded patronizing. Huh.
Aurora nodded, "I'll graduate from Bayville High School in a few months."
His mother's eyes widened as she looked to Warren, the look of faux-disapproval in her faux-blue eyes completely ruined by the smile on her face. "So young!"
"Well so were we once," Warren Jr. smiled his best kindly father smile. He never smiled that one at Warren—only at young executives he took under his wing.
This was another thing Warren never minded, since he knew it was the fakest of all his father's smiles.
"What are your plans for college?" Katherine used her free hand to make sure her blonde hair was perfectly in place, helmet hair-sprayed to perfection.
"I've just gotten my acceptance letter from NYS." Aurora's voice was sweet, but not shy in the least. She sounded proud, but not snotty. She was playing the part perfectly… because she wasn't playing a part. Oddly enough, she was in her element here. Somehow. She stood straight, but her shoulders were relaxed. She was smiling but it wasn't the least bit forced. "I plan to start in September."
Warren shot her a sideways glance. He knew she'd also gotten acceptance from ESU and the various junior colleges around Bayville… but he could've sworn he'd heard Jean-Paul talking to Scott about ESU next year…
"Your accent is charming, dear," Katherine was already on to another line of questioning (while Warren Jr. was already looking around for someone to talk business with). "Where are you from originally?"
"I was raised in Quebec." Her smile never faltered, like it used to when she talked about those years in LaValle. Nor did she try to laugh anything off, like she had the first time he'd talked to her about it. She just… said it.
"Your family is still there?"
"No," Aurora shook her head just slightly and pointed to Jean-Paul in the far corner of the massive ballroom. Warren followed her gaze and saw that the others had arrived—Rogue and Jean-Paul were already carting glasses of champagne and huddling close to discuss everyone in the room (if he knew either of them at all) while Scott and Jean stood near the wall and watched.
They all cleaned up really well, he noted. He'd never seen his fellow X-Men in… well, formal dress. Jean and Scott looked like they were born for this, and Rogue had a very effective goth-but-classy thing going on that Warren hadn't really seen coming…
"My brother is my only family. He's over there dancing with a friend."
Katherine sipped at her champagne, eyeing the dancing couple carefully. When she finished her sip she said, "She looks familiar…"
"She's an X-Man," Warren cut in, putting his arm around Aurora suddenly. And then he said it, "They all are."
Katherine appeared to have trouble swallowing her next gulp, but only for a moment. She recovered with extreme grace. And refused to meet Aurora's eyes after that point in the conversation. "Hmm," she stalled for time for just a moment, looking at her son's tie carefully.
Warren felt that feeling again… but this time it was real. His father was looking at him with absolutely no expression on his face, but Warren could swear he felt the disapproval just the same. And Katherine… well, she might've been uncomfortable, but years of being a society wife had trained her well.
So before Warren could get angry at them for being bigots, bust out of his harness and shock the New York City Social Scene to it's very core by declaring that the only Son of Worthington was a mutie too, she managed to say, "Uncanny resemblance."
Aurora was still smiling… but Warren had to admit, it wasn't entirely pleasant. He knew the look… it was her fighting look. But all she said was, "We're twins."
"Well I think dinner is about to be served," Warren Jr. saved them all from further discomfort.
Warren felt his face beginning to flush. Felt his heart flutter. Felt… powerless.
They hadn't said anything. But that was the problem. It was everything they didn't say that he was hearing just the same… and he felt sick to his stomach.
He couldn't even come to her defense. How could he defend her against nothing?
"Let's have a seat then," he suggested anyhow. Gently and into Aurora's ear alone.
She winked up at him. As if she didn't care that his parents were standing right there.
It made him feel a little better. At least she was here…
And at least he knew now. All his father's talk about it just being prospecting, about there being no anti-mutant bias in his own corporate policy…
It was bullshit. It was all bullshit and now he knew for sure.
So Warren squeezed Aurora a little and led her to their seats. He was sitting next to his mother, but he made it a point not to speak to her the entire meal—he directed his attention to Aurora and Jean on her other side. And when his father made the toast in his honor, he stood and smiled and said thank you and everything else he was expected to say.
But he didn't remember doing any of it afterwards. He wasn't even sure he'd really been there at all.
0
"Well she's beautiful," a slightly-sloshed Katherine didn't quite slur as she leaned on his arm.
Warren sighed and held her up. Jean and Scott were talking to his father—or had been when he'd left them over fifteen minutes ago. Aurora was talking to Rogue in a corner somewhere and Jean-Paul was entertaining a young stockbroker from JPMorgan Chase whom Warren happened to know had an eye for young vulnerable money.
Note to self: Remind Jean-Paul not to give his money to Analisa. They let her take too much commission.
Other than that, the party was starting to dwindle. Drunken heiresses had kissed their hopes of landing The Only Worthington (for another year at least) goodbye and their mothers were taking them back home to plot over what they could do to increase their chances at the next event. Businessmen and women had re-solidified ties with Worthington Inc. that had been languishing all year while Warren Worthington Jr. had sojourned in England, leaving his unsociable son to run the New York business. Most everyone was satisfied and had been given the proper amount of attention accorded to their station and status, economically speaking. All the word was balanced.
Except for his.
"But you could've warned us, you know."
Warren avoided a sudden and out of place urge to roll his eyes. He completely understood the compulsion to get drunk at these functions—that wasn't his problem. His mother's liver was her own. But he couldn't forgive her for the way she'd looked at Aurora when she'd found out. Or, rather, hadn't looked at her.
What had he expected? That they'd embrace her with open arms? She was a mutant and, possibly even worse, she had no people. Just a good-looking brother with a small sum of money because he'd been a professional athlete (of all things) for a year or two.
What had he expected?
Suddenly he asked, "What if she was black?"
Katherine blinked stupidly. "What dear?"
"What if she was black?" he looked her in the eye (her blue contacts suddenly making him feel slightly queasy—they never looked right to him.) "Or Asian. Or Greek Orthodox? Or Jewish?"
That would probably be fashionable of him, or maybe progressive—dating a girl who wasn't a WASP. But a mutant… oh no, obviously not.
Katherine laughed, albeit a little uneasily. "Honestly Warren, you're too young to be serious about a girl anyhow."
He stiffened. Too young? Not too young to live on his own in the US while his father worked in London and his mother took weekend shopping trips to Paris and Milan and they had Christmas in Kaanapali. Not too young to have substantial control over hundreds of millions of dollars as a 'lesson' to him on how to operate.
Oh no. None of that.
"How old were you when you got married?" he asked quietly. Because he knew the answer.
She'd been twenty.
She looked at him, attempting to purse her entire botox'd face in irritation for just a moment before replying. "Times were different then. It was the seventies…"
He sighed again and pulled away from her arm. She had a table behind her if she really needed help. He needed some air. "Don't, mother. You know… anyone could be a mutant. You could."
And then he said it. Watched her (vaguely disturbing) eyes carefully. "I could."
His throat closed up. He lungs felt crushed under the horrible weight of those words. He didn't move, didn't think, didn't do anything but watch his mother.
She flushed an unhealthy shade of pink. Right before she started laughing. "Don't be ridiculous, Warren!" she chortled.
He just watched her some more. It made him sad. Because under that ten-thousand-dollar Valentino… she suddenly didn't look so beautiful anymore.
What had he expected?
"Go spend some time with your little girlfriend," she was still laughing when she laid a hand on his arm and gave him a gentle push. "It's your birthday, darling. Oh, did you get the car?"
The car. He'd almost forgotten the car.
A two million dollar Bugatti Veyron 16.4. Black and Blue. Quite possibly the most amazing car ever built.
And he'd almost forgotten.
"Yes," he told her quietly. "Thank you, it came this morning."
Katherine just smiled. Having absolutely no idea that she was the only one, apparently. She reached up and patted his cheek gently.
"Anything for my baby."
He walked away without smiling.
What had he expected?
Well… a Bugatti was more expected than a little understanding, anyhow. Granted, he'd been pretty shocked over it when he'd found the keys on the counter in his penthouse that morning on a rare visit to prepare for this little debacle…
But now it didn't seem so important.
As he slid through the crowd people stopped him, greeted him, said hello. He felt himself smiling, chatting, being as friendly as he could be. Making sure no one bumped into his back, wishing he could stretch his wings out and just show them all. Wondering why he'd bothered to hope for anything. This was better than it could've been. Wasn't it?
When he got to the fifth birthday well-wisher Jean was suddenly at his side. She managed to pull him aside. He was about to thank her for saving him when she leaned close and hissed into his ear, "There's going to be a fight."
He stood up straight, looked her in the eye. "What?"
A fight? But… this wasn't some bar they could—
Jean nodded discreetly over her shoulder.
Warren let his gaze travel past her (in her stunning emerald green asian-style silk dress)… and then he saw what she meant. There they were. Aurora and Jean-Paul.
Obviously yelling at each other. Or, if they weren't, about to start.
His head felt like it would explode, suddenly and violently. Warren wondered what kind of scene that would make in the society pages tomorrow.
"You handle them," Jean said quietly, confidently. Like The Mom she was. "Scott's running interference with your father. I'll take your mother."
Warren wanted very badly to argue. He wanted to go back and take care of his mother himself, and tell Jean to handle the Beaubier Train Wreck about to happen in the middle of his parents' fancy ballroom.
With only a little over half of their party guests gone. And roughly one quarter of those remaining watching the drama unfold already.
All he could do was be a man. He sucked in a long breath and started forward, trailing through the dwindling crowd as quickly as he could to get to them. Before he was within ten feet he could already understand what they were saying perfectly.
Well… what Aurora was saying. Jean-Paul, at least, looked quite conscious of the fact that people were watching them. But his jaw was set in that way it always set itself when he was determined to rip someone a new one.
Which only made Warren's head start to pound that much harder. Jesus Christ. Not here. Not now.
Not tonight.
But what had he expected?
"… his side because you're jealous!"
Whatever Jean-Paul said in reply, Warren didn't hear. But he heard Aurora's next remark plainly enough. And it made him groan out loud.
"Of Warren. Don't deny it, I saw you with him yesterday morning!"
Oh god… oh god. Surely he'd misunderstood that. They'd been fine a half hour ago, how could this have happened? She'd been so level-headed, so calm about this whole thing… she'd spent the whole day with her brother! They had to do this now? And over him? No, he must've heard wrong.
God, he hoped he'd heard wrong. With every fiber of his being.
"Are you serious?" Jean-Paul's voice (and surprise) were clear by then. The expression on his face was one of both shock and disgust. His hands were clenched and his face was white.
Aurora's, on the other hand, had taken on the prettiest pink shade Warren had ever seen. She stamped one foot as if to throw a temper tantrum and half-shouted, "You're jealous!"
Warren was right behind her now. He stepped up beside her and looked at Jean-Paul appealingly (no response, of course)… then he looked at Her.
Her eyes were wet. She wasn't crying exactly, but those big blue eyes were unmistakably misty and that beautiful pink color in her face was coming in splotches, now that he was closer. Her full lower lip, still shining with the lip gloss she'd been obsessively applying all night, quivered.
But he couldn't stop them. He couldn't touch either of them somehow. It was like the tension in the air had created a weird circle around them. And if he crossed it he'd… burn up. Or something else terrible. But his proximity to their little tableau meant that he was one of two people in the room who heard Jean-Paul say the words, "If I'm jealous, it is not of you."
The words dripped off the speedster's tongue like molten fire. Hot and burning right into his brain.
It could've meant anything. But Warren was afraid he knew exactly what they meant.
Who else was there to be jealous of if not Aurora?
Well that only left Warren, didn't it?
Son of a bitch.
Not tonight. Oh god, please not tonight.
"You admit it!" Aurora raised her head up as if in triumph, looking even more like a Roman statue than before. But now it was more Diana than Aphrodite. Untouchable.
"You're mad," Jean-Paul hissed. His hands were still balled up, but now the knuckles were turning white. And so were his lips. His eyes, sharp and electric, were fixed solely on his sister. Any shame or embarrassment he'd felt for the people around them who were pretending not to watch appeared to be gone, just like that. He'd just glared… and said the worst thing anyone could possibly say to Aurora.
"How could you?" She was suddenly hissing back. Her eyes were still wet but she wasn't sad. She was just as angry as her brother.
People were starting to whisper around them. Not too many were nearby, but there was a slow buzz rising. Like someone had let a pair of flies into the room.
Warren reached out and put a hand on Aurora's shoulder, hoping to calm her.
She snapped her gaze to his, grinding her jaw for just a moment. At first he thought she might shake him off… or possibly turn her anger on him.
He stood straight. He'd take it like a man.
Instead she only said, "You should hear the things he's said about me!" Then she turned back to her brother and said, "To me! How could you, Jean-Paul? You must be jealous, nothing else can explain this!"
"Aurora," Warren spoke, finally finding his voice. His voice was low and urgent. "Jean-Paul," he looked to her brother, the mirror of her own stance, her anger at that moment. "Please…"
Please what? Please stop trying to kill each other and pretend you're one big happy family? Like the Worthingtons do so well?
Jean-Paul looked at him suddenly, as if he hadn't even known Warren had been there at all till that very moment. He blinked once, then seemed to somehow stand a little taller and said, in one of those voices that was so calm it was actually scary, "I've outstayed my welcome."
Warren shook his head. He wanted very badly to physically stop Jean-Paul somehow—with a hand, a touch, anything that'd keep him from running off before this was all solved. But no… that wasn't happening. If he touched Jean-Paul he had a feeling he wouldn't be getting his hand back.
Aurora shook off his arm suddenly and took a step toward her brother. Growling like a tiger. "Go!" she pointed toward the door that led into the foyer and stamped one foot again for emphasis, in case the way her eyes were flashing behind that vague glaze of saltwater didn't give him the message clearly enough. "You're not welcome here. You're hateful."
The last word was uttered with such spite that it at least matched Jean-Paul's molten words from only moments ago. If not surpassed.
Warren almost took a step back from her. But instead he took a step forward, unthinkingly, and took her wrist in his hand. Partly to keep her from going after her brother when he turned without another word and walked away, his fists still clenched, lips pressed tight and white. Eyes just as wild as hers for the first time Warren could remember.
But he also held her partly to keep her from walking away from him. Christ knew what she'd do if he let her get away tonight.
She was Aurora.
"Oh Jesus…" he heard a distinctly southern accent behind him suddenly. "I go to the bathroom and everything goes to hell."
Warren looked over his shoulder and nodded at Rogue. She took off after Jean-Paul without any other signal, silken purple Cocktail Dress of Goth Hot not seeming to hold her in the least.
When Warren returned his attention to Aurora she was still just standing there. Pink and beautiful and glowing with anger. Staring.
He closed the door behind them and turned around slowly… not wanting to see her face for the first time he could remember.
This was his room. The room he'd spent so many happy days, months, years in before he'd been sent off to boarding school. Before he'd sprouted wings and become a delinquent. This was his door, with the "Luke Skywalker Boulevard" street sign on the back side. His silver-grey carpet. As he turned he saw his roll-top desk—the one he'd thought was so dorky as a kid. The curtains weren't his anymore—they used to be Dick Tracy but now they were some nouveau crap. As he turned further he noted that the bed was still the same—a queen size bed for a three year old kid. It used to seem so big. Now it looked tiny to him…
Finally, after stalling as long as he could, he raised his eyes to her.
There she stood. Dazzling in all her righteous anger, eyes flashing, hair falling out of its once perfectly arranged coiffure. She looked positively wild. She looked like… like…
He didn't even know. He felt helpless. Trapped. Wild. Resigned. Pained.
Maybe it wasn't what he expected. But it was probably no more than he deserved.
"He is horrible," she was still growling, pulling at her dress suddenly in a show of pure nervous irritation. "I hate him!"
Warren stood next to the door, his hands spread wide but still hanging lifelessly at his side. In a show of defeat.
What could Jean-Paul have said that was so terrible?
Did she even know? Did she even care now? Would it be best to let her forget and not ask?
"No," he said after a moment of watching her fret with her dress and hair uselessly. There was… nothing else. He had to try. "No, it was some kind of misunderstanding."
Her eyes blazed. "He called me a whore."
Warren felt his eyes widen, his eyebrows shoot upward.
Well that… that was… unexpected.
The word, heavy with terrible meaning, spurred him into action. He started forward and reached out for her. When he got within three feet she threw herself at him bodily, wrapping her arms around his neck.
But not for support. No. This was far more aggressive than that.
Her body shifted against his, warm and strange with that mix of hard/soft that always made him feel dumb and mostly useless. He held her a little tighter, feeling like his arms would go around her, tiny fairy thing that she was, two or three times if he wanted.
"He said…" she trailed off. Not because she was choked up. No, when she looked up into his face now, the expression on her face was curiosity. She almost didn't look angry anymore. "Am I bad to you, Warren?"
Warren experienced a sudden sensation then. Later he would decide that it was the mass effect of pretty much every emotion in the world suddenly slamming into him at the exact same moment in time. But in that moment it really just felt like he was dying. His insides went weak, his legs shook slightly. His head felt like it was being crushed from all sides.
He looked at her and thought of all the times she'd made him laugh like no one else had.
The first time she'd crawled into his lap and kissed him like that.
The way she looked at him like she knew he could do anything in the world.
Her patting his arm as they'd marched off to meet his parents only hours ago.
The way her eyes lit up when he walked into the room… no matter who she was talking to at the time.
The fact that when he was without her he couldn't think of anything else.
Her, right now. One hand rubbing the back of his neck, the other in his hair. A goddess in a white dress, her front pressed hard against his. Making him remember everything good he'd known in the last four years all at once.
Because it seemed now like it had all been her. All along.
And he lied to himself. At first he knew he was doing it. And then he didn't anymore. The lie disappeared in a bright white burst of what he assumed was pure unadulterated love (but was not entirely indistinct from acute pain). And when it had dissolved into a million little pieces so that he could never remember it had been a lie again he said, "Of course not. Why would you think that?"
She shook her head slightly in a familiar gesture of frustration. It was a new mannerism, something she'd only picked up since the accident. Like she was trying to shake something that wouldn't leave her alone out of her mind. "He said I treat you badly." Then she looked up at him. Bright eyes through long black eyelashes. "You know I love you, no?"
He swallowed hard.
She shifted against him, moving her hips forward just slightly.
His blood started to pound immediately due to pressure in strategic areas. He thought to himself that he'd never had a chance, but couldn't exactly work out what that meant. He was getting hysterical, clearly. For no reason at all. He just needed some air…
Or… something else…
"I know," he managed. Hoarse for no reason at all, that he could see.
"I would do anything for you," she promised. Her smile was genuine and terrible. It told him the rest of the story her eyes began. She was too beautiful not to believe.
"I know," he repeated. But… what had they been talking about? It was so hard to remember when she was running two delicate little fingers over the back of his neck like that… when she was somehow getting closer when she really shouldn't have been able to. "It's just… don't listen to him," he tried desperately to call to mind why he was telling her not to listen to someone.
Jean-Paul! Yes, Jean-Paul had…
She slid the hand that had been toying with his hair downward and started to loosen his tie. Then undid his top button. And there went the last of the blood he'd been keeping in his brain, straight to his dick.
It was like being on laughing gas.
Jean-Paul… what?
"What does he know?" Warren finally managed. Somehow.
Christ, his knees were about to give out.
"Nothing," she said quietly, grinning as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
Since she did, that wasn't surprising.
Her hands slid under his jacket now, deftly undoing the straps that held his wings in place with a few clicks. She knew the spots so well. Her hands were so clever. And warm. God. God help me.
"Do you love me?" She pushed the jacket off his shoulders.
The door wasn't locked.
He didn't care.
"I love you," he told her, feeling like he'd never spoken truer words in his all of his twenty-one years. He felt it all the time, every time he looked at her. All that light in her… what it did for him.
What it did to him.
She pulled two of the straps off. His wings did the rest for themselves. The harness fell to the floor on top of his jacket and he felt like he could breathe again.
Almost.
"I love you so much," he elaborated. He didn't even have the grace to feel stupid for it, though he had enough to know he should. He stretched his wings, sighing into her hair at the sudden freedom. How it made everything feel better… everything feel great…
She shifted against him again. One finger trailed the arch of his wing over his shoulder.
He shuddered. The faint sound of his feathers seemed to echo in his room.
That wasn't a lie. (Not that anything was.)
She'd said that she would do anything for him. But he didn't care about that. The fact was that he would do anything for her. Steal, cheat, lie… forget. Anything at all.
"Do you think Jean-Paul loves you?"
Normally the idea would've ended the mood. The tiny part of his brain that still wanted to be rational laughed. The rest of him sighed as she pulled his tie off and threw it at the pile, then slid her hands (hot and gentle) under his shirt.
He let his fingers trail down her bare back as he kissed the top of her head again and again. Desperate. "No. You know he doesn't. Why would you think that… you know it's not true…"
The words didn't mean anything to him. It was just something he said to soothe her. The right tones. Like talking to a baby.
"He's so hateful… he's so jealous…"
He wondered if she knew what she was saying either. A vague concept occurred to him—that now was really not the time for her to be talking about this.
She pushed his shirt off his shoulders then. It slid off and over his wings even faster than the jacket had. He put both hands to the back of her neck and undid her pearls, then fumbled to put them on the dresser behind him without looking. Her fingers ran over the feathers on the underside of his wings. Like hot wax dripping onto his skin… like ice. Extreme sensation that made him catch his breath.
His blood was rushing so fast he could hardly hear her anymore. But he managed to make out the words "You love me," as she began kissing his neck near his ear.
"I do," he said it again. Breathed it, more like. Speaking was too difficult. Words didn't make sense. "I love you."
She pulled her lips off his neck.
He swayed slightly when she stepped backward, his front suddenly cold and missing her. He had to put a hand on the dresser when her dress dropped to the floor in a pool around her ankles. Somehow her shoes were already gone.
He'd missed that part.
She didn't look any less statuesque for the loss of those white folds. If anything it was more so.
"Prove it," she grinned at him, cherubic pink lips twisting upward cruelly.
It was by no means a pleasant, mischievous grin. It was evil. It was a threat.
Like she knew he didn't have a choice.
When he woke he turned his head and saw her there. Next to him, asleep. Her legs were tangled up in the sheets, but she was otherwise… just her. Naked and white and…
Painful.
He closed his eyes again, but his wings were restless and he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep. He hadn't flown yesterday at all and they weren't used to being cramped all day anymore. The were used to Xavier's.
He rolled out of the bed and stretched them first, then the rest of him, reaching upward toward the ceiling. When he'd done with that he started looking for his clothes…and noticing how much his body hurt.
Three times. He'd hardly had any sleep. It was a new record for such a short period of time. Even in high school, he'd only pulled that off once or twice on his own. Three times and she would've wanted four.
It hadn't always been like that with her. At first it had been so gentle. So simple. But the more he gave her the more she seemed to need. How could something so beautiful, something that had given him so much…
How could he feel so fucked?
He reattached the harness quickly, trying not to look at her. Trying not to wake her. Then he pulled his shirt on. A pair of old sweat pants. An old army jacket.
And he went to find breakfast.
"Where did you disappear to last night?"
Warren Jr.'s hair was blonde—or had been at one time. Currently it was flecked with silver to the point where the two became indiscernible from each other and it just looked… shiny.
Warren squinted as he came into the sunny kitchen, eyes totally unprepared for the glare from both the windows and his father's head.
Nor did he much care to answer the question. His wings twitched under the army jacket, desperate to fly. He ignored them as best he could while digging in the fridge.
"The Pendermanns wanted to see you before they left. You can't just leave your own—"
"I know, dad," he finally spoke up from the fridge. He didn't feel like anyone's son right then. Not after the way they'd acted last night.
And not after the night he'd just had.
"I'm sorry," he lied. "Something came up."
While he was fishing out some yogurt cups, he said a silent prayer that Scott had done his work with his father and the man knew little or nothing about the Beaubier Bust Up last night. That was the last thing he could deal with right then. The very freaking last.
A newspaper rustled. Warren knew what was happening behind him without pulling his head out of the icebox. His father had just picked up the business section and thrown the rest of it to the other side of the table.
Warren knew because this was a habit he'd picked up from the man himself. He did it every morning as well, these days.
"She's a beautiful girl," Warren Jr. announced after a moment of horrible silence.
Warren closed his eyes for just a moment. He'd love to act like that was the non-sequitur his father was pretending it was. But he knew now that his father knew. If not everything… something.
Son of a bitch.
When his father didn't say anything else after a few painful seconds, Warren turned around, yogurt cups in hand, and kicked the door shut. "Yeah. I know."
Warren Jr. looked up over the top of the business section for just a moment. Then folded the paper and put it down.
Which signaled that the man meant serious business.
"But this is our family name, son. Don't drag it through the mud."
He felt his jaw set, his stomach crunch - every indignant physical reaction he had went off.
But he wasn't going to show it.
What the hell did this man know about him anyhow? Warren hadn't seen him in over a year. And before then, how the hell had he managed to hide a ten foot wingspan from them for four years? Four bloody years. It was ridiculous.
But what did he expect?
"No, dad."
"You're a young man," Warren Jr. continued once he'd gotten the expected response from his son. "You have a young man's heart, ideals, dreams. I know it's not easy to be alone—,"
It was too much. Warren cut his father off possibly for the first time in his entire life, snapping, "I understand, sir," and sounding a little too much like a sullen army private for his own liking.
If Warren Jr. was bothered he didn't show it. "I hope so. We heard some stories."
As if he had ever really imagined otherwise. What had those society assholes with their fake bodies and hair and lives said about her?
At least she was real—at least she was who she was. No matter what.
At least she was real to him. And he was real to her. He knew it. He felt it.
"I took care of it," was all he said.
"I hope so. I really do." And then Warren Jr. Picked his paper back up, unfolded it, and went back to studiously giving the appearance of reading. "Will we see you for dinner?"
He knew his parents wouldn't be here long. A month, maybe less before they went back to London. His mother liked the idea of living there too much. It was too romantic. And the money was even older than her family's.
He was bitter and tired. He was just grouchy.
"Not tonight," he suggested a little more gently.
"Do we really need to work with this Institute?"
Warren blinked. Again with the fake non sequiturs.
He didn't have the energy.
"It's the future dad," he smiled to himself. A wry little smile that people with secrets smile, he told himself. "All of our futures."
"Well it's your ballgame son."
Which meant, of course, that if it fucked them over it was all on his back.
"I'll handle it."
"Good. Come to breakfast on Monday—we're having guests."
"I can't without her."
At least if they hated her he had an excuse to stay away. His wings were twitching terribly.
Maybe they should just go back to Bayville for breakfast.
"Son," Warren Worthington, Jr. said without looking up from his paper once. "Bring girls to breakfast when you're planning on marrying them. Not now. Not her."
Warren dropped the yogurt in the trash as he left the kitchen. He realized that he should probably be upset right then. That he should be angry and indignant and probably do that dramatic thing where he unfettered his wings and told his father just what kind of freak he was.
But he was too tired.
Breakfast in Bayville sounded much better.
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AN: The other half of this story (which is Jean-Paul's) comes next. Was whatever he said that bad? Is Aurora just THAT crazy? Does Warren end up having a good hair day? Find out…
Right now.
Yes. Kinda, but not really. No.
If you want details, however, come back for the next one. (And don't fret, they won't all be depressing. There are a few happy fluffy ones on the way. Just… not next.)