Disclaimer: I don' own nothin'. So there. Neener neener.
Summery: All right, I moved the lemonish scene up from two chapter ago to next chapter, which may or may not be AFF exclusive, because the one I had written was waaaay out of character for both of them in my mind, so sorry to everyone who read last chapters summery and checked AFF. I'm trying to get back on schedule with the story, so keep expecting chapters every week or two, more on breaks. This chapter leads up to chapter fifteen at a pretty fast pace. As usual reviews are adored and framed. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and for those of you who are reading this, but not reviewing... pleasepleaseplease, I'm beggin' ya'll. The robins on my lawn have agreed to give their five-minutes summery of Moby Dick to readers who hit that little button. Enough groveling, onward.
Chapter Fourteen
Good fucking lord, I hope to hell it's not broken
I wiggle my fingers about, wishing I could retreat back into battle mode where nothing hurts, but Path has retreated leaving me with Tris and a cut wrist. Watching Warren take Scott over the edge of the balcony, I can already feel the tingling that accompanies my increased healing. An unpleasant pins and needles feeling, which retreats by the time Angel reappears, indicates that I probably just bruised or pulled something. Unwinding my fingers from the slice, I watch a drop of dark blood well and drip with morbid satisfaction. I can even manage a grin at our final exchange. Thinking of cookies is beginning to make me hungry.
Warren's light landing startles me into a defensive crouch. The swift movement opens my wound a little further, and I grimace at the fresh blood. I don't mind so much the fact that my healing isn't as extensive as Logan's, but it would be nice if it could help with a little cosmetic repair. Warren's eyes, wide at my feral gesture, relax when I stand again.
"Are Remy and Kitty okay?"
Warren nodded and moved closer. Unable to help myself, I embrace his warm presence with my mind, feeling the murky brown/cedar touch I've grown familiar with. It always surprises me, such a dark mental signature from someone so light in physical coloring. I still can't read his thoughts, not even the general surface musings most of the mansion's occupants 'path without realizing it, but I have been able to gain a print of what his signature is. He creases his brows together, and pulls me into a physical hug as warm as his mind. I snuggle gratefully into the embrace, resting my head under his chin. He smells of sweat, feathers, and blood, but at the moment I couldn't care less if he stank like a stockyard.
::Tris, we need to get back to the mansion::
Jean's call snaps me back into reality. If she's breaking her self-imposed telepathic exile, we need to go home. "Warren, Jean's calling us down." Nodding, he clips the karabiners still miraculously attached to my uniform back on his harness and steps off the balcony. I try to pull us both upwards enough to give him the needed lift for a smooth landing, but judging by the painful snap of his wings don't succeed. We land with a decidedly ungraceful thump. Smoothing back a strand of wayward hair, I give myself time to kinetically detach us from each other and step up the Blackbird's ramp. A wave of telepathic pleadings and thoughts assault me, and I wince visibly.
"I've got to help with Remy, see if he won't let me stitch him. Guess he won't let Hank do anything."
Warren nods, exhausted. His wings droop slightly as he plods past me into the seating area, and I send a swift 'path to Jean to feed him something before turning into the impromptu med bay. Remy's back is to me, but the stubborn set of his shoulders shows that the situation hasn't changed in the last few minutes. Hank is glaring in his direction while swabbing Kitty's shallow graze, Kurt swearing in German as Shadowcat trembles from a combination of shock and the sedatives.
"Verdamnte, Gott in Himmel..."
"Shu' yer wailing' Kurt. She'll be fine."
Snatching a roll of gauze from the table, I swiftly wrap and tape my cut, flexing the fingers. The pain is minor now, something I can easily manage. Keeping an eye on Logan to verify that he isn't going to pounce on me for going to save Scooter, I wrap my good fingers around Remy's shoulder. He hisses and turns to face me.
"Petit, Tris, don' do dat. It hur'."
I roll my eyes at the stubborn set of his mouth. "Remy, just wait until I tell Rogue." A small wrinkle of confusion at the corner of each eye is enough to go on. "Well, I mean, you going off into hazardous danger alone, leaving Kitty defenseless, not letting Hank or me stitch you up..." I stop and smile, hoping he will catch the implication of my threats. Smart enough even through pain meds, Remy gives the clear picture of mentally throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, you bully Remy in'to ever'ting, wai' till he tells Rogue wha' Tris been makin' him do, dis Cajun always do wha' his femmes tell 'im to..." The little grumble of sound winds down as I pull on gloves from Hank's stash, smiling at the 'Hank' and the 'normal' carefully lettered on the two boxes. Pulling out a length of sterilized silk suture, I turn into a furry blue chest and stomach.
"Thank you Tris, but I think I can handle the situation from this point. Now that LeBuea had agreed to cooperate that is." Beast throws a dirty look at the abashed Cajun. Remy attempts to make amends with an ingratiating smile that falters at the malevolent stare from Dr. McCoy's blue eyes. I produce a tired laugh, surprising even me, before stumbling to the door. The last hour's exertions have caught up with me - a headache from extended open telepathy, knotted muscles from stress, and what Logan calls a hit-bottom syndrome consisting of too much adrenalin on too little sleep. I weave my way to one of the g-couches, filled with water and heavy cushioning to withstand high gravity in intense acceleration, and collapse. Curling into a fetal position, I can just make out the sound and smell of Warren entering the room and tuck my bandaged and throbbing hand against my side.
wWw
Warren turned from the medical stench of the room and followed Kurt's directions to the galley. There, stretched out on the couch tucked away behind a counter was Tris. Her spine curved into the couch backing as she nestled her head into her knees, flexible as cat in the tightly balled position. She seemed to recognize his presence with a twitch of her eyelid, then he was greeted with a fully open green iris. Dark lashes framed the pale color, and as Warren sat down, he smelled singed hair. Unsure, Angel waited before gently touching her shoulder.
"Path?"
His team mate stretched out and swung her feet to rest on the floor. "It's Tris now luv. I need some sustenance, how about you?" Warren shrugged grimacing as his stomach gurgled, belying his attitude. "I could use some food." he admitted in a small voice. The shock of the past hour's exertions was still processing through his mind. Leech, Scott, Kitty, Remy, that girl they had tied up in the cockpit next to Leech, it was all still a blur to him. He caught the granola bar Tris tossed him and chewed it methodically, still attempting to make sense of his memories. "That girl, who is she?" He noted the lumpy tape around her wrist and hand, but saw no signs of blood or even tenderness in her motions.
Tris turned to him, her teeth half-way into a granola bar. Sharp incisors showed for an instant before she tore a section off with a swift movement of her head. "Mrph?" Her eyes asked the question as much as the inquisitive noise. Holding the pressed bar between her teeth, she started randomly pulling out pins and finally a scrunchie. Her hair tumbled down, reaching mid-back before she swiftly scooped it back up and put it into a loose loop at the base of her neck. She finished chewing and dropped her food on the countertop before answering. "Wall Flower. She uses scents to control people. Pheromones, like bugs." Tris mimed wafting something up towards her nose in further explanation as she took another bite from her reclaimed bar.
Warren couldn't help but smile at her. The swift changes in her moods could never help but intrigue him. Tris seemed to have a bottomless energy that she could turn on and off at will. He watched her moving to another cupboard almost frantically, finally pulling out a six-pack. She turned to him conspiritally. "Logan left these behind 'on accident'. Warm though." She tossed them back in the cupboard and sat back down on the opposite end of the couch. Angel began to get nervous as she fidgeted briefly with her bandage, then stood again. "Be right back." She turned to the doorway and disappeared, only to be escorted back in by Logan a moment later.
"Logan, I'm fine, I just need something to drink..."
"These'll do. Where's that ice brat when you need him?" Logan had reclaimed the beer from under the counter, grimacing at them in disgust. "Warm. But they'll calm ya down." His accent, which had become indistinguishable for a few moments, was back with a vengeance. He popped the cap on one and pressed it into Tris' resisting hand. "Drink it elflin', 'r I'll shove it down yer throat. Can an' all." Tossing another can to Warren, Logan opened the last with a contented sigh. Tris gulped down a mouthful of the beer and made a face, carefully hiding her arm behind her back. Logan seemed oblivious to the injury.
"This is disgusting."
"Mmm." Logan's murmur of assent doesn't seem very truthful considering he was still gulping the warm beverage down. Warren set his unopened can back on the couch. It wasn't being underage that bothered him so much as the fact that he wasn't really up for anything interrupting his thought processes at the moment. Just then Storm walked in, her movements as sleek as a hunting cat. And she was stalking the Wolverine.
"Logan, did we or did we not discuss this."
Wolverine turned with the beer still in his hand. "Wha' Aurora?"
"Giving alcohol to underage students. We run a school Logan, and Tris is only twenty."
Tris waved a hand to Storm as she took another sip. "Actually, another month. Still nineteen." Logan threw her a you-really-aren't-helping glare before returning to his mollification of the weather goddess. Tris winked at Warren, her nerves suitably calmed from the beer.
Warren blinked slowly. Logan and Tris were now acting as though they had just gotten back from a golf tournament, not a mission in which several members of the team had been injured. Tris' earlier nervous fidgeting he could understand, but this casual camaraderie was disconcerting. Jean and Scott turned up a moment later, crowding the room further. Scott, his eyes tightly shut, held onto Jean's hand as she wound her way to Tris and handed her the broken visor, mumbling something Warren wouldn't hear due to the noisy argument still going on over the beer. She pointed at the gauze and tape wrappings on Tris' arm, and nodded, seemingly pleased, before handing over Scott's visor. Two pieces dangled loosely from each other, a few wires holding them together. Fitting the pieces together and ignoring the Storm and Wolverine, Path took another inelegant gulp of beer and started rummaging in a drawer.
A few seconds later, she emerged with a roll of ducktape. "Warren, hold this for me?" Still examining the eyepiece carefully, Tris waved her beer in his direction. "If I put it down Storm will confistacate it." Warren took the can from her, intrigued despite himself and the lingering trembles still in his system from the battle. With a soft hum, the Blackbird lifted off just as Tris ripped off a section of ducktape and wound it tightly around the break in the glass. Jean looked too shocked to take them away from her, and Scott was clueless as to the desecration of his visor. Handing the equipment genially back, Tris turned around to replace the tape in the drawer. Jean stared at the impromptu repair job, rolled her eyes, and hauled her husband back out of the room, with him complaining the entire time about stubbing his toes. He was back moments later, ridiculously attempting to look dignified with a strip of ducktape between his eyes. Warren tossed him the unopened beer. Scott mouthed his thanks before Jean appeared so fast she might have teleported and chivied him out of the room and off to med bay. Logan stalked out a few moments later with Storm hot on his heels and holding the remaining three beers. Tris took the open drink from his stunned hand and sprawled beside him.
Warren felt more overcome by the past few hectic minutes than anything else that had happened that evening. How could he have thought asking Tris out on a date was difficult? The question was answered as she practically jumped off the couch a moment later, causing a similarly startled reaction from him, and dove for the supply closet. Reappearing a moment later, she tossed him some jeans and a shirt. "Put these in last week, when we re-supplied." She held out a skirt and top for his inspection, grimacing. "Forgot my stuff though." The brilliantly yellow outfit made the true owner clear - only Jubilee wore that particular shade.
"Jubes is shorter and a bit fuller figured than me, and I hate yellow, but this ought to hold until we get home."
Warren frowned in thought. "It's only twenty minutes back. Why not wait?"
Tris looked at him oddly. "I'm covered in blood. No, not like that, I'm not going nuts." Tris laughed at his expression, her usual throaty giggle making Warren relax. "I mean I can smell the blood all over me. You too, but since it's my smell on you it doesn't bother me. You honestly can't smell it on me?" Warren shook his head. A frightened expression flitted over his team mate's eyes for a moment before she grinned again. "My nose must be getting sharper then. Be right back." The flirtatious look she sent his way was as unexpected as it was soothing to his worries. Tris was interested in him, despite his less than stellar act in this mission. After all, what had he done? Flown around a little, carried Kitty back to the Bird? Leaning his head back, Warren let her mischievous smirk float across his mind's eye.
He was so glad he had asked a curly-haired mutant to dance with him only a few months ago.
xXx
I hitched the waistband of Jubes skirt a little higher. Not going to work. I peel the bandage off my cut, noting the already healthy pink flesh. While it will only take a few days to fully heal, I'm willing to bet that this particular cut will leave a scar. Well, no time to waste on spilled milk. I tried once again to pull Jube's skirt higher. While she was hardly stocky, I had become quite virtually a lean machine with the extra training for Warren. Hardly any noticeable muscle mass, and still only a tidge over 110, but looks can be deceiving. I've never been the type to bulk from muscles. Sighing, I slip the black leather back on and toss the clothes out of the tiny changing closet. Stepping around the corner, it surprises me to see Warren stretched out on the couch, head back. His eyes are closed, although he looks to still be awake if the little smile dodging around his mouth was any indication. A habit of neatness makes me bend to pick up the discarded garments.
"Stick with your blacks and greens Tris, they suit you better."
Jean. Ugh. The only word I can think of to describe that now hormonally pregnant woman. I honestly don't know why she hates me so much. I'm not pretty, no competition there - I suppose it must be the rivalry for head telekinetic, since the Professor has top telepath covered. And I hate to admit it, but we're about evenly tied for that one. In her insane alter-personality mode, she could far outcompete me; however, that personality is, as I mentioned, a nutcase psychopath. In her normal persona, I can easily overcome her as either Tris, or as Path who opens up more wide-scale approaches with her lack of normal morality. However, Tris is completely under my control, and while Path may be psychotic at times, she does have a sense of honor and loyalty, just not much of a humanist conscience.
I'm thinking myself into a corner here. I turn to Jean, smiling crossing my arms over the plain black of my chest. I never understood the concept of painting an enormous crosshair target on your torso. "Well, Jean, at least I chose colors that don't clash with my hair dye."
A muscle twitches. She knows I'm telling the truth, although without Logan's senses I can only pick up the smell the day after she re-dyes. Must be for grey hair, because her hair is red, a fact that can't be ignored due to the multitudes of pictures of a younger Scott and Jean spread around Xavier's office. I open my mouth, and then stop. Why do I do this? Rise to her bait? I shake my head and flop next to Warren.
"What names are you going to choose?"
Jean's eyes soften. Her hand goes automatically to her stomach in a protective gesture. "Can you tell what it is?" I shake my head. Ultrasounds have been proven to have unexpectedly traumatic effects on telepathic fetuses, and as such most mutant couples have taken to staying entirely away from all but completely non-invasive treatment for a fetus - such as another telepath or empath. "Twins though." I can still pick up the extra hearts beating ever so slightly out of sync with their mother. Jean smiles.
"Told Scott?"
She shakes her head and turns to leave the kitchen. Without thinking, I call after her, "I'm happy for you." The note of sincerity surprises us both. Stopping in the doorway, the redhead nods, and continues out of sight.
"Never gets boring here, does it?"
Warren is watching me warily, his face clouded with something. I grin and rub my cheek against his bare shoulder gently before retreating to the other end of the couch. "No, not really. Only a few more minutes."
A silence falls, during which I finish the reclaimed beer and watch the play of light across its aluminum surface moodily. Warren shifts noisily and startled, I glance towards him. His elbows on his knees, he has his chin cradled in one hand while the other fiddles with a loose thread on his pants. I give his hand a kinetic nudge and he looks at me questioningly. "How'd you like your first mission."
"Scared the shit out of me, and I didn't even do anything."
I raise my empty can and eyebrows to his reply. Not surprising. Not many are as well-prepared as Logan and myself for seeing death and destruction, loneliness. Perhaps that's why Wolverine gravitated towards Rogue and me. We are three of a kind, all of us taught by the world to be self-sufficient and emotionally immune to danger. Of course, the lesson only really took with Logan; you might say Rogue and I earned a low C in that course - enough to pass but not enough to excel.
"You did better than Kitty on her first mission. Or Remy for that matter." Warren turns his head and looks skeptical. I decided to elaborate. Besides, talking will keep me thinking positively until we can get back to the mansion and I can retreat for a good post-battle session somewhere. "Kitty, she saw a sentinel and phased right into the basement of some poor dear. We had to go rescue her from an old lady and her frying pan." Warren's lips twitch. "And Remy, Remy was already trained for battle when he got here. Only he missed the lesson on teamwork and dropped Rogue down a manhole. Good thing she could fly, or we wouldn't be expecting little Romys any month now." This time the twitch turned into a laugh. I grinned back at him. This was kinda fun, reciting all the dumb things we've done on early missions.
"Rogue now, one of my first missions here, she was feeling a little hormonal and just came skidding around a corner and belted a soldier. Only it was Scott."
Warren is starting to look a little happier. Come to think of it, I'm starting to feel better too. "Bobby froze me inside a room with Juggernaught - that didn't last long of course. Jean tripped and fell flat on her face on one of our few positive newscasts; I think I still have the video actually." I started to giggle a little. "Storm hit this water creature with lightening once, and instead of frying, he was boiling hot acid all over the place for ten minutes. I think the most memorable one was Storm forgetting that Logan is a natural conduit and aiming for someone next to him. Except he got whacked instead." Warren is having trouble breathing. "Logan once threw someone out a window, where they fell fifteen feet straight onto Remy's head. Kurt actually teleported a bomb into the Blackbird he was so flustered where to take it." By now, I'm laughing as hard as Warren.
"Goo' times."
Logan is standing in the doorway looking contemplative. "Then, 'o course, there was the day Scott blasted through half-pint's head to hit someone else. She claimed it gave her headache for three days." I smile at him, glad he is joining in with us. "Lets no' ferget Tris here. Wha' was i', the thir' mission whe' ya fell outa a tree on m' head?"
I snort while Warren howls. "I got distracted, okay?" Logan gives me an unbelieving look. I swing my hands wide in a flamboyant gesture in defense. "How was I supposed to know that snake wasn't poisonous?" Warren has his face covered, and his ears are bright red from suppressed laughter. About to make another comment on Logan's many fauh paxs, instead I feel the soft thud that indicates we're home. I instantly feel the pull of a hot shower. "Seeyouguystommorrow." I blurt out the single word in one breath and sprint for the door, passing Kurt on the lowering ramp. Managing to make it upstairs before anyone else even knows we're back, I hit the play button on my player and head for a long shower.
The laughter that buoyed my spirits on the plane leaks away as I drop the stench of leather, blood, and sweat from my body and turn up the water until I yelp when it hits my bare skin. Pale scars show past injuries, but I ignore them and unwrap the soaking bandage from my latest cut. Gritting my teeth, I ruthlessly scrub away the dirt and dried blood, looking down to follow the brown trail as it disappears into the drain. Leaving the water running, I try to purge the thoughts of what Warren must have thought of my precipitous exit. Logan knows, but Warren has yet to learn. I probably could have managed a better explanation. The iodine stings in my cuts, and I could almost welcome the pain if it weren't for the thoughts of Warren. Damn, I forgot about Wall Flower - Melissa? Oh well, Leech and Beast will likely take her downstairs to the containing pen. Not my problem anymore.
De-tox from battle, stage one.
wWw
Warren stood, watching the back of Tris' head disappear. "What...?" Logan smacked him genially on the shoulder. His inherent aggressive streak seemed to have ebbed with the violence of battle. "Jus' Tris Warren. Jus' her. You go see 'er, ya hear?" After this uncharacteristicaly friendly order, Logan tromped off, joining Storm as she glided down the exit ramp. Warren brought up the rear, watching Kurt's tail twitch anxiously as Kitty hopped beside him, her high ponytail level with his shoulder, the blue head bent to whisper something in a delicate ear. Jean and Scott strolled down one after the other, both loaded down with medical supplies, while Beast nimbly jumped directly from the door to the ground. Warren started as Remy tapped his shoulder from behind. He had been keeping a wary eye on Leech and the captive as they trundled a safe distance after Beast, the young boy gazing serenely around in a manner fit to beat the professor as Wall Flower walked unhappily in front of him.
"Is Warren tinkin' dat dey look like de ark, or is dat jus' Remy?"
Warren snorted. The resemblance was indeed striking. "What does that make me, the pigeon?" He glanced sideways at the Cajun. Remy grinned broadly, fingering the bandage across his chest before buttoning up his shirt and smoothing it over the lumpy gauze. His armor, the shoulder piece neatly perforated in alignment with his wound, hung from his uninjured arm. "Non, you are da dove. Remy mus' be da snake, wit' his forkened tongue."
"REMY LEBEAU!!! YOU GET DOWN HERE SO AH CAN KISS YOU PROPERLY!!!"
Rogue, her stomach already rotund from the growing child, stood at the bottom of the ramp with her hands on ample hips. Her eyes were only for Remy as he gave Warren a pitiful look and clomped down the ramp noisily. "How is Remy's fav'rite wife?"
Rogue narrowed her eyes before lunging at her husband. "Ah better be your only wife. Oh, Remy!" The last was more tender than anything Warren had ever heard from the often sarcastic if caring Southerner. Remy looked embarrassed at Warren over his wife's shoulder, his feet dangling as Rogue gripped his chest to her face.
"Chere, Remy is off da groun'."
"Sorry sugah. Tris went upstairs Warren. Ah was so worried Remy!" She put her husband gently down, still embracing him, then laced her fingers with his and dragged him off. Warren stood, alone on the Blackbird, before finally stepping out of the door. He managed to wander past the inquisitive Junior team surging through the kitchen, making his way up the stairs and into his room. Bobby met him at the top of the stairs, his blue eyes calm.
"Anyone hurt?"
Warren nodded, pushing past the youth. To his surprise, Bobby grabbed his shoulders and stopped him, his superior weight an advantage in the corridor. "Is Kitty alright?" The ice-blue flickered with an emotion Angel couldn't pin down, but interpreted as regret.
"Kurt's taking care of her."
Bobby snorted and released him. "Oh, sorry man. Yeah, that lecher would be."
Warren turned his head, narrowing his eyes. "You had your chance with her Bobby. You dumped her if I remember properly." He enunciated the pronouns clearly, unsure of what Bobby was up to. They glared at each other for moment, then both blond heads snapped around as Tris' green door opened. Tris stood there, clutching the lapels of a floor-length trenchcoat shut as she watched the two men warily. Bobby stared at her, then pushed past Warren down the stairs. Tris' eyes followed him before snapping back to Warren. He felt his stomach drop slightly as he took her in. God, she was so beautiful.
"Don't mind Bobby. He's upset with us for leaving him here with the Juniors and you and me for 'persuading' Kitty to let him ditch her."
Warren nodded and rounded the corner, sliding past her in the narrow area by the stairwell. His glance up and down the coat was as much a question as an admiration of the garment. Odd, he had never seen it before.
"You want to come in?"
Tris indicated her partially open door with a flick of her free hand. Warren nodded back. "After I shower." Tris smiled and shut the door behind her with a click. He heard a loud crash from the room, then silence. Shaking his head, Warren walked past her door and on to his own, now a deep blue. He waved down the hallway to Diane, a demonic looking female if he had ever seen one with bat wings and an oddly mottled red skin, before retreating.
xXx
I couldn't help it. Pacing back and forth in front of the window, I look out at the lake wistfully. It was so pretty, and still warm outside. I wanted to swim so badly, would be right now if Warren and Bobby's anger hadn't caught my attention. A knock on my door stops my restless feet for a split second before I bounce to the door and wrench it open.
"Surprise! Thought we'd come give you a good gossip 'fore turning in." Jubilee, her smile brilliant, is closely followed by Rahne. Both watch me as I shake my head and smile.
"I'm pretty tired guys. Can I take a rain check on that?" The two girls look astonishingly abashed before they skitter off on Jean's approach, Jube giving a thumbs up as she goes.
"We're having a meeting downstairs." The sentence is spoken in a tone that indicates her knowledge of my intentions to ignore the summons. Her head is all I can see above the banister. I wave my hand and smile at her. Something between us changed in that last sentence of congratulations. She senses it as well, smiling back before leaving without another word, telepathic or otherwise.
I wish Warren would hurry up before Scott comes and nabs us personally for a group therapy session disguised as an afterglow. I honestly don't think Warren is the type to benefit from those.
As if conjured by the thought, Warren's knock on my door brings me to another stop. "Come in."
He opens the door, peeking through before emerging into my room. I cast a jaundiced eye around, deciding it looks clean enough. His jeans are loose, low on his hips, with a hint of boxers above in the style of modern day. The still damp wings tucked securely back as he enters, an automatic gesture. My hand drags unconsciously through my own perfectly dry hair. Mutations, you gotta love 'um.
"I'm going swimming. You coming?"
Warren stops in his gentle closure of the door, looking at me uncertainly. "Swimming? But...shower..." His voice chokes on the words. I grin.
"Swimming."
He nods, still confused but obviously trying to humor me. I throw open the window kinetically and step to onto the balcony, gripping the handrail before swinging myself over. Warren's oath follows me a moment later as his head appears above me, back lighted. "What the hell are you doing Tris?" His voice whispers hoarsely after me as I dangle from the bottom of the railing, searching for the top of the wall below my room. My feet find it moments later and I drop lightly.
"Come on, it's more fun if we sneak out." I check the buttons on my coat, and watch Warren follow my example. Before long he stands next to me on the wall top, still eight feet above the ground. We tiptoe down the broad brick structure, Warren seeming to pick up on my need and following me wordlessly as I scramble down through a bush. He hops beside me with a gentle flap, rustling feathers as he re-tucks the wings back. I smile at him, and grasp his hand in mine. The feel of his warm fingers gripping mine back is more of a balm than anything else I can think of as I lead him to the edge of the woods, finally stopping next to the boathouse.
"Normally this would be Remy and Rogue's spot, but now she's pregnant and Remy's injured it should be empty." I feel the need to explain in a whisper as I push the door open into a dark room. I hear Warren grope for a light switch, and stop his hand with my other one standing against him. Our breathing speeds simultaneously, and I feel stupid. This wasn't what I was planning, far from it. I don't want to push anything Warren doesn't want, no matter what his battle-high senses may say. It's a common effect of near-death, this need to prove our continuing existence. Even I felt close to jumping Piotr once or twice after a mission, and I know he felt that way after every battle. Remy and Rogue, Bobby and Kitty, and now likely Kitty and Kurt if Kitty isn't still out from pain meds, they all feel the effects. I'm surprised Logan hasn't expired from the unresolved tension, but I do know he sits resolutely in the mansion every night, keeping away from bars and the houses in an attempt to stay loyal to the unvoiced relationship with Storm. Scott and Jean, well, I'd rather not think about that.
As Warren brushes his thumb over my cheek, I can see his pale eyes in the dark watching me. My brain steers me away from what I could ask for, what I see his eyes offering me, and I pull away. This is part of the reason Junior team members stay junior - they have to be able to control themselves both in and out of the battles.
"The water's not as cold when you go through the dock." I drop his hand and open the door out to the dock. A rowboat bumps the wooden siding. Warren follows me and looks apprehensively over the edge, making a surprised noise when he sees the water. I grin and click my tongue to get his attention. Pointing dramatically, another light flares up blindingly before settling to the gurgling sound of a huge hot tub. My team mate gapes.
"Erm, Tris...?" It's the first time I've ever heard someone actually make that noise. "My feathers don't appreciate chlorine." He looks at the tub longingly but obviously sets the idea mentally away from himself. I pretend-punch his shoulder.
"Good thing the Professor had a sodium-chloride filter put in then, isn't it? And I promise I'll help with the grooming afterward." I look up pitifully, hoping he'll take my suggestions platonically, but also wishing he could be unusually dense and miss all the signals. He wasn't, doesn't, and grins, keeping his distance.
"All this washing probably isn't good for my wings."
"A little cleanliness never hurt anyone."
His mouth opens, likely to argue the point, but I splash a mouthful of lake water into his face before the words can take shape. Warren sputters indignantly. I take the opportunity to pull my coat off and toss it onto a chair, turning to see him averting his eyes and curiously silent. The stray thought of embarrassment and a simultaneous desire for better peripheral vision makes the situation clear. I feel unusually and unexpectedly flattered.
"Gads, Warren, I'm dressed. I would at least warn you, trust me." I generally swim alone and as such sneer at clothing, but for tonight dug out an old bikini top and a pair of board shorts. I had almost hoped Warren would come up and join me, and had delayed somewhat before preparing to leave. Hadn't thought as far as what he might think of seeing me with so little on though. Warren begins to turn his head in answer to my comment, and I decide to solve that particular problem by leaving his sight.
wWw
Warren turned his head slowly, allowing Tris a window to re-cover herself if needed. He had heard enough from Jubes and Rahne to think her something of a 'prude' if he remembered the firecracker's wording correctly. By the time his eyes reach the bare boards where Tris was however, she had disappeared silently. "Tris?" His voice was uncertain as he peered about in the dimly lit boathouse, only a flickering light from the hot tub illuminating the scrubbed walls. A splash from the water outside answered his summons, along with Tris' nearly inaudible yelp at the frigid of temperature of a New York lake. Warren stayed stubbornly where he was. That hot tub might look tempting, but swimming in dark water of an unknown depth with wings was just asking for trouble. Besides, he hadn't gone truly swimming in years.
Another splash and some damp padding footsteps precipitated Tris' return with a towel wrapped around her. "Don't like ice water?" She grinned at him before shaking her head slightly and rolling her shoulders. "I do hope you'll join me in the tub?"
Warren nodded, and unbuttoned his pants. The boxers underneath would serve reasonably well for a bathing suit. Tris nodded her approval back to him, and slipping into the hot water dropped her towel on a railing. Warren joined her a moment later, barely disturbing the water as his thin body knifed into a seat. His wings drooped comfortably over the edge of the above-ground luxury, even as the water came half-way up his chest. He sprawled, enjoying the jets playing across his lower back and striving to not look at Tris.
"Care for a little girl talk?"
Warren's head shot up, and his incredulous stare was only partially for the absurd statement. Tris was barely covered in the gently illuminated water, a string bikini containing her breasts but leaving the rest of the pale skin bare. A nearly invisible tan line marked where the hems of her tank tops and t-shirts normally hung across her neckline and thin shoulders. Long arms tapered to small wrists and delicate fingers, unexpected muscles bulging here and there from the soft slenderness. Her waist nipped in before her hips and thighs were obscured by a pair of baggy men's swim trunks. Her knees and calves were also long and slender, though muscled heavily for their size and leading to ankles too thick to be fashionable. Long toes, abetted by thin feet with round arches played with a head cushion opposite her as she stretched in the warm water. He noted the white scaring across her leg from the operation, faded and partially removed tattoos curling around the joint and disappearing beneath the gaudy print of her shorts. Less faded, but showing the same signs of half-hearted removal as those on her left leg, a small black cat draped over her navel. The eyes, staring directly at his, seemed to resemble their owner with startling clarity, a mixture of green and blue with slitted pupils. Warren slid his eyes upward farther still, unable to stop himself.
Small scars were apparent across her stomach and sides, a few on her shoulder, with three matching slashes across her ribs being the most prominent. None, however, were large or garish - they were all in fact rather unobtrusively thin, most merely visible because of the pale coloring. Only the trio were raised in any way, three ridges that slid over the muscles and bone between them with each shift in his teammate's breathing or position. There was something about those healed wounds that turned Warren's stomach. They looked...so...deliberate was perhaps the best word. As if they had been inflicted with the intent of disfigurement, their purpose to warn others of something. He stared at them, wondering where that thought had come from, how he could assume so much, be so repulsed. Not only by his own thoughts, but by the tissue itself, more a mark of...hatred was the word, yes... than anything he had ever seen. A small voice in the back of his mind kept saying that there was something he needed to know about those marks. Her arm moved, and the cuts on her wrists drew his eyes away from the repugnant scars.
"Warren, eyes on the face. You must be tired."
Warren drug his eyes back to hers, dark in the quiet room. Yes, tired. That was a good excuse. He spread his arms over the back of the tub to join his wings, relaxing into the hot water. "What constitutes girl talk?"
"Well..." Tris played with the water, watching as ripples spread out from her knees as they neared the surface. "I don't exactly do normal girl talk, with make-up and guys, but how about a sort of getting-to-know-each-other type of thing?"
Warren considered. "Like twenty questions?" Tris nodded, adding, "Something like." Angel decided it couldn't be too difficult, and might be the perfect opportunity to answer some of the nagging questions about his team mate even Wolverine didn't appear to know the answer to. "You start."
Tris stretched, and the bikini pulled up a little, exposing the round bottoms to her breasts. Warren gulped and redirected his gaze to her face. To his intense relief, she was staring at the ceiling, completely unaware of his eye's direction. "Something you've never told anyone."
Warren blinked. Well, that was a list about three parking lots long. He considered, trying to find something both unknown and 'safe'. "When I was sixteen, I swallowed a penny."
Tris brought her head back down and grinned at him. "I did that when I was a little tyke. Thought I was going to die." She changed the control of her jets absently. "Your turn." Warren snapped out his question before he had a chance to talk himself out of it. It might not seem personal for anyone else, but he'd bet it was to her.
"Why'dyoujointhex-men."
Tris looked at him incredulously. "Slower and in English, if you please."
"Sorry. Why'd you join the x-men?"
Path scratched absently behind one ear, biting her lip. "Dunno, really. Just needed a place to live, and here was this perfect, gold embossed opportunity to get free food. All I had to do was stay in good shape and go out to save the world occasionally." Her smile showed she was joking. "Then I saw the reason for it, and stayed on because I wanted to help." She ducked under the water, and came up with her hair sopping. She wrung it out before asking her question.
"What's your first memory?"
Warren didn't have to consider. He answered with a constriction of his throat he hadn't felt in months. "Watching my mother being buried. I was three, and I remember that my dad didn't want to hold me. My nanny came with us to the funeral." He shook his head, avoiding her direct gaze. He didn't need sympathy for the old wounds. "What about you?"
Tris grinned fondly. "I was probably only about four. A priest friend of my parents gave me a kitten and a peppermint, and then patted my head. I saved that peppermint for ages, even though I hate the way they taste." Her eyes, turned to him, were soft. Warren chuckled enviously. "I always wanted a pet. Never had one though."
"I didn't have it for very long, I think we took it to the shelter or something later on. Don't remember that, just him smiling down at me and handing me this little tiny scrap of fur. I was probably barely to his knee. I stayed tiny until about tenth grade, and then grew a foot in a year."
"Do have to take the fun out of life? I was just about to ask whether you were a late bloomer." Warren ducked the spout of water that aimed telekinetically accurately at his head. Tris laughed quietly. "No, not really. Actually, I was talking and walking early, just didn't develop physically until later. Mentally I was on top of the game. Good thing too, considering the number of times I moved." The matter of fact tone she took showed her lack of interest in perusing the subject. She abruptly slid out of the water and over the edge of the tub, landing with a soft splash on the tiled floor. He watched the scars move, under her skin. Their aura of evil was draining away as he grew used to the marks. "I'm gonna go jump in the lake. Be right back for my question." As she turned, he saw yet another ink drawing on the small of her back. Unlike the others it was clearly defined in bold black lines as a triangle, one of the sides thicker than the others. The shape was tiny, and would likely have hardly been noticeable if her skin wasn't so fair. He blinked, trying to place the familiar shape in his mind when she moved farther away, obscuring the tattoo in the darkness. The highlights in her hair were all he could see over the edge of the tub before she was out the door onto the dock.
Warren slid farther in the hot water and rubbed his shoulder. The muscles were sore from his prolonged flights, not to mention stress and near-death experiences. A twinge in his wing reminded him of their position. He gently immersed the feathers in the warm water before pulling them out again, the white sticking to his now exposed pink skin. He arranged himself more comfortably and closed his eyes. Tris' footsteps were all the warning he had before she slipped back in the tub. Gentle ripples rocked against his chest as she rearranged herself and looked at him expectantly. He tried not to look at the cat on her stomach as the muscles moved, giving the creature an uncannily lifelike look to it. He still felt like it was watching him with those Tris eyes.
"What do you want?"
Tris cocked her head. "From life, from you, from the cookie jar? I'm not reading you, you'll have to be more specific."
"From life."
Tris blew an errant strand of hair out of her face, and smoothed another behind her ear. "I want life. That's it, just plain, boring, unimaginative and certainly unbloody life."
"That sounds like you don't want to be a mutant."
Tris smiled. "No, more like if I'm a mutant, I don't want it to be a big deal, right? I want everyone to be a mutant, or maybe everyone is telepathic, or I'm a norm. Maybe they're no such things as mutants and norms, just people. And nobody would look sideways at Kurt and Hank any more than they would look oddly at a black guy. If that makes any sense." She gave another laugh, this time in self-deprecation.
Warren didn't have to consider the answer to that question. "It makes perfect sense, just not realistic. Sometimes they even look sideways at the black guy, and there isn't anything we can do about it."
"Well, that's why it's a wish, and not reality. If you were the Professor, would you try to change people's minds to make them think differently? Think something more conducive to your goals?"
"No." Warren's answer was flat and true. "That's manipulation, and that is something I would never do."
"Oh."
The silence was deafening. Warren cast around for something to ask. "What's the dumbest thing you've ever done? And I want the entire story."
Tris grinned at him. "You would. Actually, that's a very long list, starting with the time I tried to drink formaldehyde at four, and ending with asking you to play this game with me." Warren splashed water half-heartedly.
"I meant something a little more specific." His tone was wry. Tris smiled again, a wide grin, and wrinkled her nose. Her dark eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth as the ceiling above them creaked loudly. "Well, when I lived in Louisiana, there was this family a few streets down from us. They were a huge family, eight kids, twenty cousins, with all the kids in and out of the house all the time. I got to be friends with the son of the family, and we did some crazy stuff together. This one time, we hitchhiked into New Orleans, and ran up and down Bourbon Street all night, and then snuck into Pat O'Brians - it's a restaurant - and stole some of their gift cups. We dared each other to try all the different types of dish soap. Tasted, and then spat, not swallowed." She ran the tip of her tongue over the edge of her lower lip reminiscently. "But the dumbest thing we did was try to take his uncle's sailboat out of the harbor. We managed to untie it, and then, having absolutely no clue how to sail, ran it into the boat next to it. Barely made it out of the area in time." Her smile turned thoughtful. "Actually, we wouldn't have if we hadn't dived into the bay. Spent an hour trying to hide in three feet of crystal clear water by stirring up the bottom and ducking under the dock every time someone came by." She looked at him. "What's your favorite thing in life?"
Warren thought. He had never really considered the question before. "Sleep." He decided the flippant answer was likely to be partially true.
Tris snorted. "Should have seen that coming. Your turn."
"If you could have any mutation of any strength, what would you want?"
Tris unexpectedly frowned. "That's an easy one. I always wanted to be a healer, so I could heal animals. Being a vet was something I wanted to do since I was little. But my telepathy isn't even sensitive to animals, and empathy is mostly a human thing - most animals don't have emotions besides pain and satisfaction ." She amended her statement. "That I can pick up at any rate."
Warren looked at his team mate with interest. "A healer?" Tris nodded, pursing her lips slightly in thought as she considered something.
"Where is your favorite spot in the world?"
"Wherever you are." Warren slapped himself mentally, and hastened to add a flippant, "Or wherever the brownies are. Take your pick." He hoped she would take the comment as a joke. She seemed to only see partially through his facade, laughing but watching him thoughtfully. Angel hurried to ask another question of her. This game was getting somewhat sticky.
"Why'd you stop dancing?"
Tris quirked her mouth, her face unusually expressive, even for her. "I didn't. I just don't practice every day anymore. Dancing is like chocolate to me - I enjoy it so much more if it's a treat instead of a staple. 'Sides," she rolled one shoulder in dismissal, "now I'm not competing or in classes, I don't have to be perfect. I only dance any more for me. And you, once." Her eyes, still dark, closed slightly as she smiled. Warren remembered their first meeting and smiled back. It seemed to him that he had always lived in the mansion, and the other nineteen years of his life were like black and white photos compared to the iMax theater that was the x-men.
"Why do you hate your father?"
Warren gulped and stared at Tris. "You said no powers..." he started accusingly before Tris interrupted. "Come off it Warren. You've never mentioned him, not once. You lived with a wealthy family, I did background checks on you in your first couple of weeks. No scandals, although your mother died when you were young. Your father is successful, well liked, and his telepath secretary says he is in no way interested in boys, young or otherwise." Warren gaped.
"Debbie was a telepath? Is a telepath?"
Tris nodded, and her jaws clenched. "He's a mutiephobe, is that it? He didn't want you because you were a mutant. I'm not peeking!!" She held up her hands defensively, and made an odd cutting gesture across her left wrist with her right index finger. Warren noted the movement for later contemplation. He settled back in the tub.
"He was ashamed of me. And I don't hate him, I just don't have any respect for him. He never tried to do anything but cure me of my 'illness'. Amazing I turned out so normally abnormal as I am, actually."
"Don't do that." Tris' voice was sharp. "I just about invented the game of dissing yourself before someone else can do it. You don't need to with me, remember? I'll tell you to stuff it if I think you're getting a little inflated with your own ego, don't worry about that." She laughed, and he felt a light telekinetic tug on his ear. "You're very cute when you grimace, you know that?"
Warren blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Ah said, you're very cute when ya grimace." Tris drawled a passable imitation of Rogue out before smiling again. Warren, puzzled at her suddenly flirtatious manner after earlier rebuffs, changed the subject. "What was that, that sign you just did?" He repeated the gesture of forefinger across wrist. Tris appeared shocked for a moment. "I did that? Oh, I did. Old habits die hard. It's like crossing your heart, that you're not lying, or something similar. You can take it literally or not." She shrugged. Warren was intrigued.
"What's it mean, literally?"
Tris shrugged and looked at him oddly. "If I'm lying, may my wrists be slit. It's a whole language, of sorts, when you start delving into it."
"Sign language?"
"Not really, like, oh..." Tris seemed to contemplate something before answering him again. "Like, holding your hands out wrist upward, means feed me through a needle, but that's really only used when you won't eat something, or refuse a drink and everyone's pressuring you. Or flicking your palm with the opposite fingers means reach for a knife, like a warning. Body language refined, I suppose." Tris shrugged again and climbed abruptly out of the tub, coming around to stand behind him.
"Don't be so selfless, I can tell your shoulders are killing you."
Warren tried to protest, but instantly gave up as her accurate fingers dug directly into the knot at the base of his left wing. He let his head roll forward before asking another question, disregarding the fact that it was her turn. "Street stuff, right?"
"Street stuff." Tris moved to the other wing joint, bracing his shoulder with her left hand as the right rubbed deeply. She was standing so close behind him. Warren tried to distract himself from her vicinity.
"Soooo... how does dinner and a movie sound for tomorrow night?" He inflected his voice with just the right amount of neutral concern. Tris' fingers stilled for a moment before she continued her merciless unknotting of his muscles. "Good, actually. I'll skip. Still your question." Amazing how tense he still was after a shower, and a lengthy soak in a hot tub. "How long were you out there, without a family?" he asked.
"I had a family. But you mean, how long was I in New York?" Her fingers stilled briefly, and he could feel her tapping lightly with each finger as she counted. "Must have been seven, maybe eight months. Not long."
"How did you survive?"
Tris' hands disappeared from his back, and Warren felt unexpectedly bereft. It had felt so good. "I thought we were taking turns."
Warren turned his head until he could see the edge of her face, illuminated by the hot tub light. She looked pensive, and sad. Her eyes looked past him for a moment, then focused sharply. "What's your favorite name?" Warren sighed, and remembered it would be his turn again after he answered.
"Tyrel. I used to read the Louis La'mour books, and wish my name was Tyrel." He halted, wishing she would either return to the blissful massage or get out from behind him. She was making him nervous, standing behind him like that, probably staring at the back of his head.
"So, how'd you survive?"
"I didn't, not really. Got picked up a mutant gang of sorts, worked as a general busybody, minder, and sniffer in return for clothes and shelter. Everyone was on their own for food, but I was ahead in that department."
"Because of your telekinesis?" Warren didn't find the idea of her stealing appealing, but the thought of her starving was so much worse he found it easy to disregard. Tris finally moved back around the tub to face him, trailing her fingers in the water. He tried not to stare at her chest, then tried not to glance at the scars, pretended to ignore her cat tattoo staring at him, and finally settled for looking into her eyes. Odd, how he never even thought about the fact that she had slitted pupils anymore.
"No, I didn't actually get any kind of hold over that until I came here. I was very good at making others feel sorry for me though, and with the touch empathy I could gauge moods and inclinations. Most of the time though," she admitted tightly, "I wore so much clothing I would have had to strip down three layers just to get any skin on skin contact."
Warren reached a hand around and rubbed lightly at his shoulder where Tris had been focusing her attentions. A nagging throb had replaced the tight muscles. Tris seemed oblivious to his further discomfort, pulling a towel around her shoulders, and then flipping it up to scrub roughly at her hair. She shook her head, the strands already drying rapidly. Finger-combing out the tangles, she dropped into a chair a few meters away from him and rummaged in a chest doubling as an end table. A few moments later she surfaced with a messy pile of dark clothing. She singled out a few articles and smiled at him before shutting the door to a changing stall. Warren watched her feet move around for a few second before first one foot, then the other disappeared from view. He turned away, listening to the quiet scuffles before heaving himself out of the tub. His feathers were nearly dry, the warm summer air aided by the hot water. Drying himself off, he decided to toss the wet boxers in the dryer dustily hiding away in the corner and pull his pants on.
"Tris, you want to watch a movie down here?"
He squatted down and looked at the movie collection before him. His bare feet rubbed slickly on the cold floor as he slipped a little, catching himself at eye level with the four rows of DVD's. Must be Rogue's and Remy's private collection. He pulled out a copied disk of Star Wars and turned it over thoughtfully. "Tris?" The small TV. might not be up to snuff compared to his flat screen at the mansion, but it would do well enough for the two of them. And the couch looked to be comfortable.
"Tris?"
"Half a sec." The cubicle door creaked as she emerged, and he turned to see her. The trench coat once again obscured all but the most obvious details - she was wearing socks, some sort of fluffy grey material. Her hair style was unusual, only partially pulled back from her face. Long strands obscured her ears, and trailed down her shoulders in a reddish-brown series of waves, the ends curling inward. Warren remembered to close his mouth abruptly and turned back to the DVD's. She moved close enough for him to see the color of her eyes as the 'normal' greenish-blue.
"Anything good?"
"Couple. Do you have stashes of clothes all over the mansion?"
Tris laughed from behind him, and he relaxed. Their status was still in limbo, an odd combination of friend and friendly. She answered his question with obvious humor. "No. I started coming down here a lot, so Rems said I could keep some stuff in the chest. Hey," and she crouched next to him, her arms wrapped around leather clad knees, "you seen this? It's not bad." She held up a case. Warren took it from her, their fingertips brushing. He felt a jolt at the upward flick of her eyes she gave him through her black eyelashes. "Rogue and I liked it. Has Gerard Butler, guy who played the Phantom in Phantom of the Opera."
He glanced downwards. "Reign of Fire?" He looked at the case, shrugged, and flipped open the clear cover. "Dragons?" He turned the disc sideways, and examined the fire-breathing creature portrayed.
"Dragons."
xXx
I was sorely tempted. Warren was here, he was available, and he was damn good-looking, smelling, and feeling. I wouldn't mind a little confidential snuggling. Warren settles down on the leather couch - I'm honestly not certain what it is with Remy, Rogue, and leather, even my coat is an old one of Remy's, but I feel sorry for all involved if their child should turn out to be an animal's right's activist - and looks interestedly up at me. I smile and drop down beside him, settling down on his shoulder. The position was familiar to both of us. I hit the play button with a light push of my mind and snuggled into the warmth that was Warren with full intentions of being a good little girl and watching the movie.
Which wasn't that hard, especially with the delectable Gerard, except for the fact that Warren kept shifting minutely. He was usually such good pillow too. After the fourth sigh and umpteenth wriggle, I gave in.
"Warren, what's the matter?"
He sighed again, and moved his hips. I sat upright and moved down the couch, watching him thoughtfully. He was acting oddly strange. At that moment, the dryer rang its alarm. Warren was off the couch in a flash, digging into the hot dryer and swearing as he nursed his burned fingers, then turning the corner. I could hear some noises, and felt his relief at having something to distract him. Distract him from me? I was hardly the distracting type, whatever Jubes and Kit-Kat might say in the throes of friendship. Still, he did ask me on a date, so it was possible that he was actually attracted to me, in which case our position on the couch...
I flushed slightly as I recalled the fact that my head had been practically in his lap, cradled like that against his ribcage. I'm not an innocent, and I very much doubt that he is either, but it was still a compromising situation for a male and female. I would have to give him his room. Much as I might want a move to be made, it needed to be his. Why were movie nights such an emotional high for us? Well, me, this was the first time I picked up anything of the sort from my flyboy. I smile adamantly at the wall for several moments before I see the answer to our problem.
"Tris, what are you doing?"
I turn from my find to see Warren dart his eyes towards my stomach appreciatively. Suddenly remembering my apparel, I button the coat closed again and finish hanging the hammock up from its hooks right behind the couch. Dusting my hands off on a few pillows, I toss them into the net sling along with some quilts and roll myself in using proper hammock etiquette. That is, remember your butt is the center of gravity and all will follow the derrière's fate - be it on a fast trip to the ground or otherwise.
"This way we can both relax. Rogue and Remy won't mind if we stay the night down here." I turn the movie back on before he can argue. "I would offer the hammock, but I think you'll be more comfortable on that." I nod to the twin bed I wrestled out of the old couch, and toss him one of my pilfered quilts. "Come on, you're missing it." I nod my head towards the bed again and plump my pillow up a little more before settling down fully. Warren heaves out a sigh and flops down on the couch, shifting until he is crossways on the lumpy mattress, his wings fully extended over the bed.
I jump as a sudden loud noise from the screen startles me away from Warren-watching.
"Like your shirt."
My brain takes a few seconds to withdraw from the movie plot, and then another few to actually process what the wings in front of me said. "Thanks. Not my usual type, but it's all I had down here."
"You should wear it more often."
I smile grimly. "Or not." The coat tossed aside, I examine the skin-tight camisole, watching my bare stomach rise and fall with each breath. The familiar tattoo wriggles a little as I shiver purposefully. After a while, you don't notice a tattoo on yourself any more than you remember the existence of your fingernails - it's just accepted by the brain as normal part of your surface.
"What?"
I look at Warren questioningly. "I didn't say anything."
He turns, ignoring the screen. "I thought you said you were happy."
I raise an eyebrow. "Um, no. I was just thinking." Warren shrugs and turns back around. I try to recall my emotions of a few moments ago. Yes, I was happy. Warren's empathy must be picking up on me for some reason. I press questioningly against his shields, and find them as immaleable as ever.
Oh well. We're mutants. Things don't have to make sense. Funny, I don't think I've ever managed to feel this normal after a mission. All the lethargy and relief of hours before washes over me, and I slowly close my eyes, savoring the moment. Life can be good, it just takes some manipulation to make it that way. And as of this moment, I decree that my life will be good.