"Angels and Demons"
By: Luna Mae
Updated On: 12 June 2006
Chapter Two
"Rebel Angels"
X
"Dad, didn't you always use to tell me that cowardice is the greatest fallibility?" Warren Worthington III watched his father pack his large suitcases getting fuller by the moment.
Warren Junior looked over at his son and sighed, "Yes, but I'm not acting out of cowardice, Warren,"
"Hiding isn't cowardly?" he asked dryly.
His father stopped packing and sighed again tiredly, "I'm being smart, Warren, believe me when I say that I would love nothing than to stay here and continue my research. But it's just not plausible right now," Mr. Worthington went back to his bags as his son frowned deeply and walked out of the room.
Warren knew that his father was still peeved about the his little stunt on Alcatraz, especially when it would be replayed on the national news every now and then with the headlines Worthington's Son Refuses Cure often being showed.
He moodily sat on the couch and flipped on the television. Warren was slightly surprised when the aforementioned episode was being shown again, for the first time in several weeks.
"In breaking international news," said the anchorwoman, "Distributors of The Mutant Cure have been shocked to learn that the affects of the so-called permanent solution has began to fade away from the mutants' genetic code. Not much is known at the present time. Worthington Labs was immediately informed yesterday and are still maintaining their no comment statement."
"Dad?" Warren called over his shoulder, suddenly realising just why his father was suddenly bent on going into hiding so quickly.
"The first recorded testament of a mutant's dormant power resurface was a young woman from the Xavier's Institute in New York state named Marie D'Ancanto after having been one of the first several thousand mutants to receive The Cure from Alcatraz almost three months ago. Miss D'Ancanto has been unconscious since the time of her powers resurfacing and is still being held at the Xavier Institute for further observations. Medical experts are begging anyone who has received The Cure to take extreme precautions—"
The Xavier Institute? Warren thought. He had been there for nearly a month before his father called him back home to sign some papers and for the sake of the company after Alcatraz had nearly been destroyed. Warren didn't recall anyone named Marie D'Ancanto.
The television switched to a screen showing Hank McCoy on the outside of the gates at Xavier's Institute. "This should only furthermore prove that mutants are here to stay,"
The anchorwoman came back on, "Authorities are once again urging the public to be on the high alert for the mutant Magneto due to this recent story development," A familiar old Jewish face reappeared on the screen, "With the cooperation of Worthington Labs, government officials are offering a one-million dollar reward to anyone who is able to successfully detain him, dead or alive."
"DAD!" Warren angrily leapt over the couch and stormed back to his father's room. "You're going to give someone a million dollars for killing Magneto?" he asked furiously.
His father sighed and held up his hand again tiredly, "Now, son, the chances of someone being able to kill the most powerful mutant on the face of the earth are very slim. We don't even know if he survived the resurfacing of his powers or if he's already had them manifested again."
"But you're still giving them the chance! People are still going to get themselves killed for trying!" Warren roared, "That's why you want to get out of here so badly and go into hiding! Not only do people hate you for sponsoring The Cure, but because now you have Magneto's army all over you!"
"Warren, calm down!" his father ordered.
"Don't tell me what to do!" Warren yelled, "I'm twenty years old, not some little child you can dictate anymore!" Warren stormed out of his father's room and into his own, kicking his old dresser that had been put back when he moved home. Sometimes he wished he go back to the times when he followed his father so blindly.
None of his father's staff was on duty that day so Warren left his wings in plain sight as he walked around shirtless, not having to worry about the ridicule of anyone except his own father's.
For some reason, arguing with his father always seemed to throw out all of his common sense. He said things that didn't make him feel like a twenty-year-old young man, but rather, just a regular defiant teenager.
He stared out of the room's skylight as a flew by. He had been staring out the open ceiling more and more ever since his father had called him back from the Xavier's Institute to sign more papers about the company: the cause of many of their arguments.
His father knocked on the door, "Warren, I want you to come to Canada with me. It's not safe here for us anymore!"
It wasn't safe for his father anymore. Nobody hated Warren. He had denied the cure and gone against his own family. Warren didn't answer him.
"Warren," sighed his father like he always did when he was disappointed, "I want you to be able to talk to me. I'll be here if you need me,"
Warren would have appreciated if his father had been there for him when he started growing wings out of his back.
X
Warren hated small spaces; he felt they were like cages. He had once read about the Guatemalan national bird called the quetzal. It was an exotic and interesting animal that lived so freely that if it were to be caged in any way, it would die. Warren felt as though he could relate almost painfully.
He recalled always being told by doctors to be careful when he played because his bone were uncharacteristically hollow, making him more prone to painful accidents. Warren never understood why he would be born with hollow bones until about his tenth birthday when he began to have seriously back pains and told his father about the unusual bumps below his shoulder blades.
His father told Warren that he would be fine.
When he was eleven and bones began to produce from his back, he didn't tell his father. Several months later when the bones began to develop into a small framework, he wore baggier shirts, oversized coats, and avoided the pools. The summer before he turned twelve, almost the exact time the mutant craze began, Warren began to develop small feathers and skin along those same protruding bones. In an attempt to feel normal, Warren tried to get rid of them after having heard his father complain boisterously about the mutant community.
He used to want to make his father proud.
Over the next several days, Worthington Labs scientists and distributors of The Cure would temporarily shut down for a revaluation of the chemical balances and run some more tests on the mutant they called Leech. After the X-Men had saved him, he too was put into hiding until Warren's father decided otherwise.
Warren knew that Leech, or Jimmy as he used to be called, had been abandoned by his family. But Warren couldn't help but wonder how his family knew he was a mutant if his power is to negate mutant powers.
It was the second day of what Warren had snidely told his father was his imprisonment. He was brushed off dismissively as his father repeatedly told him that it wasn't safe for either of them in California anymore. Their ride would be arriving any day to take them to Canada.
Protests were daily at the Lab or just outside the apartment as Warren watched them enviously on the other side of his cage.
It felt like he would die if he weren't able to fly soon…
"Good news, Warren!" said his father that evening over the dinner table as his son gazed longingly out the window, "Our ride will be arriving tomorrow night and we'll be able to take a jet to Montreal! You'll be able to fly all you want there,"
Warren nodded.
Too bad he wouldn't be there tomorrow.
X
Much later that evening, or perhaps very early the next morning (he didn't know anymore) Warren Worthington III packed one of his lightest backpacks with his longest coat, a couple of extra shirts, and several hundred dollars from the safe in his old bedroom.
Leaving behind a short note to his father explaining almost everything, Warren quietly tiptoed to the roof of the apartment like a small chid afraid of being caught out of bed past his bedtime.
The protestors had finally gone home for the night he was relieved to see.
Securing the backpack between his wings, Warren made a running jump off the apartment ledge and began the start of what promised to be a very long journey.
X
As the dawn broke the next day, Warren attempted to calculate his distance travelled and the distance to go.
He knew that the average person could walk about twenty to twenty-five kilometres per day because his father had participated in plenty of marathons to advertise his company. But Warren was travelling by way of wing, and science didn't have a statistic for that. It meant that he could have possibly travelled anywhere between ten and twenty times faster if he kept at a steady pace. Either way, he still had a long way to go to reach his destination.
Warren landed in a desolate field, somewhere on or near the Nevada border he hoped, and did not want to buy a plane ticket in fear that his father would be able to track him too easily. His next best option, he decided, was to get a train to sleep on for the day and fly by night.
It would be harder for his father to find him, he thought optimistically.
Warren slipped on his coat and went to the nearest train station and bought the next ticket to Denver, Colorado. He slept for the next several hours and the conductor had to come by personally to wake him up.
He still had a while ways to go, he yawned.
It was another long night of flying that brought him to somewhere near central Kansas at two in the morning when he just couldn't bear to fly any longer. He, embarrassedly, asked a local prostitute where the closest train station was.
Warren asked the girl behind the glass blearily, "Where does your farthest train go to and when does it leave?"
She smiled warmly for someone awake at an ungodly hour, "Athens, Ohio. Leavin' in about two hours."
"I'll take that, thank you," His father had always taught him that it was thank you, and never thanks. He began to pull out his money, making sure that his coat was securely fastened.
"It's on me," she smiled so that it reached her eyes and gave him his ticket. She could not have been older than sixteen, had a face full of freckles with dusty brown hair that was swept up into a neat a manageable ponytail, "You look like it's been some rough travelling,"
It was a school night, so why wasn't she at home sleeping like the rest of the girls her age?
Warren knew that she had no way of knowing that he had several hundred dollars in his pocket and would have had no problem paying her. "Thanks," he said, the memory of his father fading.
"You okay?" she asked, offering him a larger and encouraging smile, "You look like you've been to hell and back,"
Warren sighed. He doubted that she wanted to know what was really bothering him, "Actually," he said, "I'm kind of hungry. Is there any place that's open now?"
Her grinned broadened and her braces reflected the station's lights, "Yeah, I'll take you there," then over her shoulder she called, "Hey, Harry? I'm taking off early!"
"Pick up your pay check tomorrow!" An unseen man yelled back.
"You really don't have to—" Warren tried.
She shrugged him off, "It's okay," she explained, "It's a ghost town during these hours and I need to head home sooner or later. I'm Taylor, by the way."
"Warren,"
"Nice to meet you, Warren," she said. It was like her smile never seemed to leave her face, "How are you enjoying Kansas so far?"
They had left the station and were walking down a dirty street where the people usually stayed away from under the streetlamps. It was strange how Taylor stood out so immensely in this barren town. She was like a bright candle hidden out of sight.
"Actually," Warren admitted, "I'm just passing through,"
Taylor nodded, "A lot of people like to blow by Kansas. It's like the No-Man's Land of North America. Most folk who run by here ask me if I can point them in the direction of Smallville, where Superman grew up. Like on the show, you know?" she rolled her eyes."
Warren laughed at her attitude as they approached a Seven-Eleven. There was never this much generosity among people back in Alcatraz. It was like every part of the country had a little piece of originality and its very own personality.
"Where you from?" she asked.
"California," Warren answered, "Just along the coast,"
Taylor's eyes widened and she let a low whistle, "Wow, really? I've never been to California. The furthest I've ever been is Missouri,"
"You don't like to travel?" Warren asked conversationally as they walked through the doors to the little substation.
"Nah," she said sheepishly, "'Just can't afford to be moving around much. My mom and me are trying to focus on making all ends meet right now, so I took up the job at the station to finish the payment on my braces. You could say that my dad never really got around to the final payments." Warren mentally berated himself for leading her into such an awkward predicament. Sometimes…sometimes he forgot that there were people who couldn't afford life's leisure.
"Sorry," he apologised quietly.
"S'not your fault," Taylor told him, "Just wish politics would stop saying that they're tryin' to fix this sort of thing when they don't even really understand the problem to begin with," Taylor didn't have to say what happened to her father because Warren already had a fair idea. She pulled out a soda from the fridge, letting out a cold blast of air. Warren wasn't used to the humidity of the central United States and grabbed one, too, and several sealed snacks for the road—and sky.
"Do you…have other family?" He tried to make up for accidentally making her confess about the financial troubles she and her mother were having but couldn't help but be astounded by her just opinions on government.
"Just a little brother," she rolled her eyes, "His name's Elijah. I think mom named him after one of them bible passages. Or maybe the guy from Lord of the Rings, I can't remember,"
Together they laughed as Warren told Taylor that he would pay for everything in return for her kind gesture back at the station. He tried to hide the crisp twenty he pulled out of his bag and slid it across the counter where a blurry old man yawned and handed him the change and their bag.
Wordlessly, they sat on the bench outside underneath an old grimy flickering light post that not even the mosquitoes and bugs bothered with it.
"Hey, Warren?" Taylor said suddenly in a quiet voice from over her plastic soda bottle, "I know this is kind of an awkward question to ask a stranger," she looked hesitant, " But do you believe in angels?"
Warren stopped chewing on his sandwich and swallowed it slowly as possible. He had been called an angel once…when he was sixteen years old and had just finished an argument with his father in Philadelphia on a business trip. Warren had jumped out from the hotel window to take a long flight to clear his head. He ended up saving a girl from getting mugged that night.
"Mi ángel custodio," she had muttered as she blessed herself. She had thought that Warren was her guardian angel.
Warren adjusted his coat nervously, "What do you mean?" he asked, taking a drink of his water to wash down the sandwich. Taylor was awfully friendly and open for someone living in such a dark town, especially with strangers, Warren thought and couldn't help but worry for her.
"I dunno…" she shrugged, "Church says that angels are higher than people, but sometimes they blend right in and can help us out in everyday life. Like in the story of Tobias," Warren was vaguely acquainted with the story, "He was the son of Tobit and had to travel all on his own until a complete stranger joined him to keep him company. Tobias didn't even know until the very end that the guy was an angel. It kind of makes me wonder if God still does that kind of thing. Sends out angels, I mean,"
Warren couldn't help but admire her ingenuousness; "We could all do with an angel now and then," he said, agreeing with her.
"I had use to hope that an angel would come to Grainfield and take me away from this place," she said almost wistfully, "I don't like small towns that much. But mom told me a while ago that there are many more people in the world that need the angels more than we do, so I wouldn't want to take them away from the more deserving people. It wouldn't be too nice now would it?" she chuckled sheepishly and her bangs hid her eyes.
There was so much child-like innocence forced into such an old soul. Even though Warren may have had wings, Taylor was more angelic than he probably could ever be. "Perhaps," he said, "But sometimes you don't need an angel to help you through things. Just your mom or your brother or your friends at school could be a God-send." Religion wasn't exactly Warren's prime subject and he couldn't help but feel awkward as he talked about God with a complete stranger.
Taylor's face broke out into an even wider grin if possible. She would look amazing as soon as her braces were off, he realised, and she would deserve the ability to be able to smile fully.
"I think you're right," she said, "I don't always need an angel, now do I?" Taylor said in an excited revelation, "God is always with me and will take me to the places I need to go. And that's just as good,"
Warren laughed, "Where would you want to go?"
Taylor's smile never faltered as she closed her eyes and leant far back as possible with her arms stretching out far behind into darkness outside of the cone of luminescence, "Wherever the wind takes me!" she laughed. Warren chuckled softly but the street remained quiet and she kept her eyes closed and arms raised. "I gotta be getting home now," Taylor said at last, the mood dropping slightly.
"And I should be getting back before I miss my train," Warren agreed, glancing at his watch.
"You sure you don't want to stay the night? Kansas, believe it or not, sure is beautiful in the morning,"
Warren shook his head sadly. The last thing he wanted was to give his father time to catch up, "I'm sorry, I can't. But it was nice to meet you,"
Taylor smiled, "It was nice to meet you, too, Warren," she said, holding out a hand.
He took it, "Will you be okay walking home by yourself?"
"Yeah," She nodded, still smiling, and said, "Maybe I've got an angel watching over me and just don't know it?"
"Maybe we all do," Warren answered softly.
Taylor saw another streak of rumpled feathers from underneath Warren's jacket as he carefully stood up from the bench and retrieved her coat. He walked to the edge of the circle of light that the lamp emitted and to where she stood.
What Taylor didn't see Warren slip two hundred dollars into her pocket as he helped her into her jacket. The same way she didn't see Warren remove his coat and take another joyous flight through the sky, assuring himself that Taylor, indeed, got home safely.
She didn't see him wait on the neighbour's roof until she was safe inside her small flat. He wanted to make sure her smile would be able to take the breaths away from passers-by.
Maybe there was such a thing as angels.
X
The train ride was another ten hours of sleep that Warren was more than grateful for. He was nearly alone in the carriage and he began to wonder if he was more like his father than he let on. Was looking for control of his own life, or was he running from something more powerful?
Once he was off the train, Warren flew for as long as the sky was dark enough to cloak him from the human, or mutant, eye. At last when dawn once again touched its fingers to the eastern seaboard, Warren had all but collapsed when he sat on the bus to finish the rest of his journey, sustaining a slight sprain in his right wing.
Upton his arrival to the Xavier's Institute for Gifted Youngsters, the sun was finally climbing over the trees and the morning dew had nearly evaporated. The gates were locked and he had never stuck around long enough to receive a personal log-in code. He pulled a small grin as he removed his coat and easily flew over the steel bars.
Once again climbing into his familiar coat, Warren walked up the old stone steps and knocked lightly on the mansion's doors.
No one answered.
Warren hesitantly, turned the brass knob, (prepared to duck out of the way of god only knew what), and quietly opened the door to a surprisingly empty entrance room.
"Hello? Anyone here?"
"Mr. Worthington?" answered someone from the top of the stairs. It was Hank McCoy; Warren had met him briefly once and had often seen him in diplomatic debates on the television and he knew that he was the Secretary of Mutant Affairs for the US government
"Oh, Hello, Mr. McCoy," Warren answered politely, "I'm looking for Ms. Monroe."
"Yes, I'm afraid that we're slightly preoccupied at the moment," he said and then looked at him suspiciously, "You're father has been calling here looking for you these past couple of days."
Warren said nothing. He wasn't under obligation to tell Mr. McCoy anything.
He must have understood so he told Warren, "Why don't you help yourself to the kitchen while Ororo and myself finish things?"
Warren did just that and helped himself to the some of the leftovers. He introduced himself to several of the students and faculty who were more than happy to talk with a world famous mutant bachelor worth almost billions of dollars.
Particularly the young women.
The mansion hadn't changed much, he noticed as he walked along the well-furnished hallways. Even his old room was still empty.
He wondered if his father was worried about him.
It wasn't until later that evening was Ororo able to see him for his re-registration.
"Hi, Warren!" she said haphazardly, her head peaking out from the office doors, "Come in, come in," She was still smiling even though she had lost three of her friends and mentors.
Warren thought the weather had been slightly cloudy on his way over.
He joined Ororo in the Main Office. She was running though the papers he had filled out on his last visit, "Okay…I think we still have all of your old documents," she held up a fistful of papers, eyes squinting at the writing, "Have you been having any trouble with your powers?" she asked.
"No, I've been fine," he answered truthfully, "Just a small sprain in the right wing,"
She flipped through some more papers vigorously, "Um, alright then, I suppose we just need to give you another physical. Do you remember the where the Med Bay is? I have to organise this mess," she laughed nervously, motioning to all of the loose papers.
Warren had never known Ororo to be so scatterbrained.
"Who's pigeon-feathers?" A man asked from the doorway. Warren vaguely remembered the man's name was Wolverine, or Logan during the school hours.
He looked down and flushed. Warren hadn't noticed that his wings were poking out from underneath him and had even shed on the seat.
"Logan, you remember Warren, right?" said Ororo, "From Alcatraz?"
"Right, right," he nodded, analysing Warren's every squirming movement.
"Hey, Logan?" Ororo said again from somewhere inside the mountain of papers, "Be a dear and take Warren down to the Med Bay so I can give him a physical in a bit?"
Logan grunted.
He didn't strike Warren as a "dear" type…
Nonetheless, Logan led him down to the X-Men's sub-levels of the mansion.
"Third door on the right and find yourself a seat," he was told gruffly.
Warren turned to thank him politely, but he was already walking down the hall, hands buried deep into the pockets of his jeans.
The automatic doors parted for him before he had even turned towards the entrance. Upon his second introduction to the Xavier Med Bay, Warren was startled when his ears were assaulted by the sound of screeching medical equipment in the hall. He nearly fell over from shock.
They were just outside of a glass room with its curtains open, revealing a rather bored looking patient.
She was sitting on her bed, one leg folded over the other as she casually flipped through a Seventeen magazine, idly twirling the ends of her hair. He found it strange that her long bangs were shockingly silver and framed her face like two ribbons of moonlight against a sea of auburn.
Warren hadn't been watching where his feet were taking him and the glass doors to her room swished open on their own as he began to walk past.
The sudden noise of her disconnected monitors from the hallway alerted her when Warren accidentally opened the doors and made the girl jump in surprise. She hovered above the bed for only a short moment until she realised, looking quite shocked, that she was doing so and dropped back down to her bed, looking mildly uncomfortable.
"Sorry," he apologised, stepping further into her room so that the doors would shut behind him and cut off the noise, "But I…I really don't think you should get rid of all your equipment like that," he said, pointing to the hallway.
The girl rolled her eyes and shrugged, "I don't need monitors to tell me how I feel. Just wish I knew how to turn the damn things off."
He decided to change the topic as the girl searched for her dropped magazine.
"I'm Warren," he introduced, shoving his hands into his pockets. He had never been good with meeting new people.
"Rogue," she answered tonelessly, not looking up. He didn't know that she decidedly did not like newcomers at the mansion.
"Rogue?" he repeated slowly. She didn't respond, but flipped through the magazine, trying to find where she had last left off. Warren studied her face for a minute as she read. Rogue was about to reprimand him and tell him off for staring until he said, "You're Marie D'Ancanto from the news,"
"Unfortunately," she answered with a steeled expression, "I prefer Rogue."
Warren was about to question her further until Ororo came running into the room. They hadn't seen her eyes widen to immeasurable sizes until she realised that the equipment had been merely disconnected. Rather unhappily, she shut them all off.
"Rogue," she snapped, "You're putting me into an early grave,"
"I keep telling you and everyone else that I'm fine!" she argued, closing the magazine with a finger inside to save her place.
"I want you in here for another day of observation," Her face softened, "Rogue, pleasethis is new for everyone, we don't want any mistakes, alright?"
Rogue folded her arms and looked away with a sulking face, "Fine," she grumbled.
"Come on, Warren, let's get that physical done real quick,"
X
Oddly enough, sitting on an cold metal bench in nothing but his boxers while an exotically beautiful woman gave him an examination was not as bad as he would have thought it would be.
"So why is Rogue in here?" asked Warren as Ororo attempted to measure his wingspan. ("I wish I was certified to do this," she had muttered.)
Ororo sighed gustily, "Her powers came back during an inconvenient time for her and she ended up hurting one of the students who's also in here."
"What's her power?" He was curious to know.
Her voice became a little softer, "Rogue can absorb almost all forms of life-force and can take in a person's memories, energy, stamina, if they're a mutant, she can use their powers." She rolled up the tape measure, "She can also replicate physical characteristics like tails, claws," she looked at him, "…wings,"
"She seemed awfully bitter about it," Warren had noticed.
"Her powers work only through skin-to-skin contact and she can't control it."
"Oh," Now he understood why she had been so upset when her powers returned. For most it would just be a surprise inconvenience, but for Rogue…it must have been life altering.
"She really doesn't mean to be so…edgy," Ororo added carefully, "She's just," she sighed, "not happy here anymore,"
Warren looked down, "I'm sorry," he said.
Ororo looked up and smiled, "Don't be. Just be kind to her and she'll open up to you soon enough,"
Minutes later, they had finished and Warren helped Ororo move Rogue's old monitor equipment into a back storage room.
"Ororo?" said Warren as they exited the Med Bay together, "Would you mind…not telling my father that I'm here?"
She looked up at him long and hard, "You're over eighteen," she shrugged, "You make your own decisions and we respect your decision of confidentiality."
He smiled gratefully, "Thanks,"
"But would you mind keeping an eye on Rogue?" she asked and continued at Warren's startled face, "I feel bad for leaving her all alone down here. Please?" She had large doe-brown eyes, Warren noticed, which explained how Logan probably let her slide on calling him dear.
"Sure,"
Almost immediately as he agreed, Ororo's communicator went off and Logan's voiced crackled through.
"You'd better get up here, Stor—" CRASH "DAMMIT, YOU JACKASS! THAT WAS THE BEER!"
"Logan?" she answered sharply, "Logan, what beer? LOGAN?" Ororo attempted to get a response, but the frequency had cut out completely. "Stay down here and watch Rogue—and under no circumstances can you tell her that something's going on." She threw the communicator to the ground with frustration and ran to the elevator with rapid speed like she had done this before.
Warren watched her until she disappeared from view and he returned to the Med Bay slowly as possible where Rogue was still reading.
"Hey," said Warren.
She didn't look up, "Hey,"
Silence.
"And here I thought this was going to be awkward," he said, bemused.
Rogue rolled her eyes, frustrated, and dropped the magazine against her chest again and sighed, "So you're the new kid?" she said in a small attempt at a conversation.
"I'm twenty," Warren answered flatly, "I don't think I still qualify as a kid." She didn't answer, satisfied that she had "socialised", and went back to the magazine. "So…what are you thinking about?" he tried again.
Rogue didn't hesitate to answer, "How much I hate my mutation and just want to go home," she said dryly, "You?"
He grinned, "I was thinking about how much I love to fly and how I never really plan on returning home."
Warren had gotten her attention and she did a double take as she first noticed his wings peaking out from underneath his coat and asked, "Aren't you Warren Worthington…the son of the man who founded The Cure?"
He sighed, "Yeah,"
Rogue pursed her lips, "Remind me to invite him over sometime. We're long overdue for a little chat," she said and Warren couldn't help but grin at her attitude.
"Yeah, I'm not exactly too thrilled wit him either—"
Suddenly, the entire mansion shook. Warren and Rogue exchanged unreadable looks.
"What on earth was that?"
"I dunno," Rogue answered slowly, finally shutting the magazine for good, "You up for finding out?" she smirked, leaping off the bed and looking like she hadn't been this excited about getting out of the hospital room in days.
He knew that it wasn't exactly a question and doubted that he would be able to stop her even if he wanted to. "If Ororo asks," Warren answered, "You ran out on me,"
"Deal,"
Together they ran out of the Med Bay and up to the main floor in pursuit of the disturbance.
X
-:TBC:-
A/N: So there's the second main character and now onto the third so that the story's plot can finally get rolling !
Why do I love writing characters that have almost no part whatsoever in the actual story!?!?
Which brings me to my second point: If you haven't noticed, I'm trying to give Rogue, Warren and Remy at least one person who changes their life or way they think before they meet up.
I apologise sincerely if I made religion too much of a prime topic T.T
Fackyews:
So will this either end Rogue/Angel or Rogue/Gambit or neither? –lunafan
We haven't even met all of the characters yet! I could pull out a random Gary Stu and have him end up with Rogue…but I think I'll avoid that road for as long as I can…
Thank God! Another Angel/Rogue story, I was getting kind of lonely. -untouchablegoth
Holy jeebes, you guys haven't even met Remy yet! T.T Remy's a nice guy, too! I guess I should say right now that there isn't going to be so much as romance as there is friendship in this particular story…coughs…Remy, Warren, and Rogue are all just getting over something big in their life, y'know? The old scars have got to heal before the author decides to be mean and put new ones there. ;; So, technically, maybe it's what lunafan suggested—it's a kinda/sorta neither…ish. Yeah.
(psst! Update What if Ah, sometime soon!)
Ishandahalf: shakes head I should have known that known that whenever there's the slightest hint of a ROMY I'd be seeing a crazy Canadian's name somewhere on the review board
Next Chapter: The wonderful(-ish) tale of Remy Lebeau, a.k.a. Gambit
(omgYAYfinally!)
-
Love From Luna