Halfway Fallen Angel
by DarkMark
NOTE: The Angel stories referenced in this fict appeared in 1971, in KA-ZAR #2-3 and MARVEL TALES #30. For our purposes we have moved them back to just after X-MEN (first series) #66.
Characters in this story are property of Marvel Comics. No money is being made from this story, no infringement is intended.
****
The joke about Worthington Steel was that Warren could have used some of it in his backbone, but probably had too much of it in his head.
They didn't say it to his face, or his father's, when the latter was alive. But Warren picked it up second- or third-hand. He didn't much like it, but preferred to ignore it.
True, he'd never been a businessman per se. His father had been the steel baron, inheriting the firm which had been around since the Worthingtons were competitors of Andrew Carnegie. In his younger days, Warren had just been concerned with grabbing as much fun and as many girls as he could fit into his life, comfortably or otherwise. He had fast cars, a large allowance, and access to the hotspots. His father, Warren Worthington, Jr., either hoped the boy got it out of his system by age 21, or that he himself lived to a ripe enough age to see his son realize the need to take responsibility.
Well, Warren Worthington III had found out about responsibility the hard way. First, he learned something of it by attending Professor Xavier's academy, where he earned a business degree and an uncredited one as the Angel, the winged member of the X-Men super-team.
Then he learned the rest of it not long ago, when his father had been killed by a villain called the Dazzler.
He didn't know there could be so much pain in the world. He also didn't know there was a pipeline from the supply of it straight into his soul.
In the end, he'd gone against the Dazzler himself, and the villain had fallen to his death. It didn't help matters when he learned that the Dazzler was really his uncle, Burt Worthington. Great God. How could a man bring himself to murder his brother?
Then again, another voice in his mind asserted, how could a man bring himself to see his uncle die? Simple enough, perhaps. Blood calls for blood, in primitive instinct. Not that it'd done a helluva lot of good, in the end run.
His father was still dead.
His mother still grieved.
And with the whole damn company needing direction, what had Warren done? He'd run back to the X-Men to fight more super-villains, of course.
Not that his mother knew. He didn't even think she knew he had wings. If she did, she never let on. Heh, wouldn't that just be the ticket...on top of all that, Mom learns that her kid's a mutie. And that he risked his life a good number of times a year, as an X-Man. Yep, really something to brighten up a middle-aged lady's day.
Damn.
So now Warren Worthington III sat, in what passed for his "office" at home, a place where he stored his books and typewriter and stereo and elpees and some memorabilia. He sat in his shirtsleeves and pants and shoes, the ones that cost about $250 and still looked scuffed, and felt the restraining bands of his harness holding the wings flat against his back uncomfortably, and looked at the floor between his feet, and wondered why the maid hadn't gotten all the dust bunnies up yet, and wondered about a lot of things besides that.
He glanced at his desk. There was a posed shot of him with the other X-Men, in their civvies, clustered about Professor Xavier. They were all smiling and it was a spring day and he remembered Hank holding a smile even when Bobby snuck a slushball into his pants from behind. After the photographer had left, Hank had fished the remains of the slushball out of his pants, thrown Bobby onto the ground outside the mansion, and washed his face with it. Just horseplay, but Bobby never slushed Hank again.
Everyone had autographed the picture.
Warren picked it up, stared at it.
Then he threw it as hard as he could against the wall.
The glass over the photo shattered and the metal of the frame bent. It made a sizeable bang when it contacted the paneling. He grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and held on as if he was in the throes of a migraine. He did not look up.
The door opened. "Warren? What's wrong?"
He looked up at Kathryn Worthington, his mother. She was almost 50, but still showing some of the beauty and all of the intelligence that had attracted the elder Worthington to her all those years ago. But Warren didn't have to look far into her eyes to see the impact the death of her husband made in her being.
He reflected that she probably didn't have to look far into his eyes to see it, either.
"I'm fine, Mom," he said, as dully as possible. "Really peachy. I'm getting along. I'm oystering."
That was an old family expression. A Worthington, faced with difficulties, was supposed to "oyster" them--take them in, build up layers of insulation around them, and keep building until the pain went away. Then some sort of pearl would come forth, in the form of good fortune. At least, that was the way the legend went.
Kathryn pulled up a chair and sat facing her son. "Nobody really oysters, son. They just hang on till the worst of it goes away."
He drew a deep breath, then exhaled. "How long is it supposed to take?"
"Won't we both learn that at the same time?"
Warren shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know, Mom. I don't think I know a single rotten damned-to-hell thing. Not anymore."
She looked at him with a bit of fierceness in her eye. "Oh," she said. "And am I supposed to say, 'That's all right, Warren. After all, he was just my husband, but he was your father, and that's more important'? Do you expect me to say that, Warren Kenneth?"
"I..." He tried to form words, finally settled on, "No, Mom. I'm sorry. I don't. I know you're hurtin' too. I...ah, God..."
"Warren, don't," she said, going to him and holding him. "I don't know that...I could take it, right now. Please, just be strong. Just for me. Just a little longer."
She held him and, in another second or two, his strong arms went about her. It was not so different from the times when he'd been a child, in such a position.
"Mom?"
"Mmhmm?"
"Did you know?"
"Know what, dear?"
"Did you," he started, then stopped, then started again. "Did you know about uncle Burt's deal with Dad? Did you know he'd...gotten involved with that damn diamond smuggling pipeline?"
"No. No, I didn't. I just knew..." Kathryn's fingers clenched and unclenched against Warren's back. "I just knew that your father was acting more morose in the last year than he ever had before. He didn't want to talk a lot about business. Given what we...what we learned, I can certainly see why."
"Tell me, Mom," said Warren, his head on his mother's shoulder. "Tell me why a man goes so bad, he wants to kill his brother. Tell me how that can happen."
"Your uncle Burt never seemed to have much of a, well, of a moral compass," said Kathryn. "Otherwise, he never would have bought into that marijuana operation years ago. He thought it was just money. That's all he saw it as. He also told Warren years later that he thought he'd never get caught, that all they'd catch would be the mules in the operation. He was wrong. That was why Burt spent some time in the state pen."
"Yeah," said Warren, quietly. "And Dad helped get him out, tried to get him started up again in a legit business, and Burt turned into a diamond smuggler, and then a...a super-villain." The phrase sounded so ludicrous as he said it, he almost spat. Even "murderer" sounded better.
"A man without a moral compass, Warren, just sees things in terms of advantages. What he can do to advantage himself, that is. Pushing drugs, smuggling diamonds, even killing your brother. It's all relative to one thing: selfishness. Burt didn't give a damn about anybody except himself, Warren. Not even his brother."
"Or his sister-in-law," said Warren, pulling away from Kathryn's hands. "Or his nephew." He stood and leaned against the wall with both arms, not looking at her.
She saw the picture lying on the floor, picked it up carefully, and turned it upside down over a wastebasket. Some of the glass fell out. She turned it right-side up again. "Warren?"
"Yes?" He still didn't look at her.
"Tell me something about the people in the picture," she said. "The people with you."
"Oh," said Warren. He moved away from the wall, took the picture away from her, and held it between two fingers and a thumb. "Well, uh..." He paused.
"You spent eight years of your life with them, Warren," said Kathryn. "Surely you can think of something to say about them."
"Oh, can I," said Warren. He smiled, for the first time she'd seen that day. He probably didn't even know he was doing it. "Let's see. Okay, this guy with the bald head you already know. He's our professor, Charles Xavier. You've met him."
"I've met them all," she said. "But I want to know what you think of them."
He regarded the photo. "Professor Xavier is the most intelligent man I've ever met. A lot of the time he's colder than the lake outside. Or he seems that way, anyway. But he knows what he's doing, and he knows just about everything you're thinking, sometimes almost before you think it. And no matter how hard the tasks he sets for us, we find out--or at least I found out--that, when you come out on the other side, he did it to help you. To prepare you. Well, that's what teachers do, but somehow--he does it better. Better than any other teacher I ever knew."
"That's good," said Kathryn. "But you thought he was dead until recently."
Warren shrugged. "Turned out...well, he was doing something. The prof's involved with the government in some ways." He hadn't actually lied. But he didn't know any way to tell his mother, "Well, the prof went underground to prepare to fight a Z'nox invasion, and he left a chameleon guy called the Changeling in his place, and the Changeling got killed by a subterranean guy called Grotesk, but we thought it was really the prof, and we found out later it wasn't."
Sometimes X-Men stuff sounded like a bad science fiction novel, even to him.
"This fellow here in the cheaters," he said, indicating the face in the picture with his forefinger, "that's Scott Summers. He's more or less the leader, under Professor Xavier."
"Leader of what?"
"Of the school. He's kind of a, well, a student council president."
"You mean they could have had you and they chose him?" She looked incredulous as she said it.
"Well, yeah, I guess they did," said Warren, a tad sheepishly.
"Well, you should have told me, Warren," she said. "I could have called up your Professor Xavier, told him how much money we were donating to the school, and changed his mind."
"Mom!"
"Such things can be done, dear. And they look good on your resume."
"I wouldn't have taken it," he said. "And the professor wouldn't have gone for it. I don't think the rest of them would have accepted it, either."
Kathryn looked at her son, appraisingly. "What's so big about that position, Warren? I was an officer in my finishing school's government, and was on the student council at college. All you have to do is silly things like talk to the chancellor about skirt lengths and curfew times and that sort of thing."
"Um. It's a little bigger than skirt lengths where we come from, Mom."
"Well, what is it, then?" Mrs. Worthington crossed her arms across her chest. "Are you involved in some sort of, well, spy operation or something?"
Warren ran his hands through his blonde hair, felt the slight ache in his back from his folded wings. "I can't tell you, Mom. I wish I could, but..."
"Why can't you?" she asked.
He looked at her, silently. She waited. Finally, she said, "It isn't something like your father was mixed up in, is it, Warren?"
"Not...in...the...least, Mom," he said, with emphasis. "Believe me."
"Nothing you could be sent to jail for? Or even something morally outrageous?"
"Nothing like that. Not morally outrageous, just...outrageous, sometimes."
She pointed at the girl in the picture. "This is Jean Grey, isn't it? I remember her."
"Oh, yeah," said Warren. "At one time, I was convinced I was in love with her. So was Scott, so, I guess, was just about everybody there. I swept her off her feet a couple of times, figured I'd have a clear field with her. Turns out she and Scott were meant for each other. So I tried hanging in there for awhile, but I eventually gave it up. That's about when I met...Candy."
His expression sobered at her name, and both of them knew why. Candy Sothern, his girlfriend, had been captured by the Dazzler in the recent adventure and had been slightly injured during the fracas. She'd been hospitalized for a week and then sent home to continue her recouping from a couple of busted ribs where he'd grabbed her as she fell and the mind-treatment the Dazzler had given her. Warren had been in to see her every day, flooding her hospital room and then her house with flowers.
"I gotta give her a call later," said Warren. "Maybe I should go see her."
"I know, dear, but let's make it later," said Kathryn. "There are things we need to talk about first."
He looked up, a bit warily. "What about, Mom?"
She said, "Warren. What is it you plan to do in the next week?"
"Well, I--" He put the picture on the desk nearby, then grasped the sides of his chair with both hands. "I kinda figured that I'd spend as much time with you as necessary. Then I'd probably go back to..."
"To the school," finished Kathryn Worthington.
"Uh, yeah," said Warren. "That is, when we're both feeling a little better and all. However long that takes."
Kathryn sat facing her son. "Warren. You've been at that school over eight years now, haven't you?"
"Something like that."
"You've gotten your high school diploma, a B.A. in business administration, and you're supposed to be working on your masters. All in one school."
Warren looked at her, hard. "So where is this leading, Mom?"
"What it's leading to, Warren, is that I think it's time you left that school."
"No!" He stood up. "You don't understand, Mom. I just can't."
"You can't transfer your credits and work on your masters at another school? I think that's very possible."
"That's not it, Mom. I'm sorry. It's something else entirely."
"That secret business you're keeping from me, Warren? Is that it?"
"Yes, that's it."
"Well, what is it? Is it more criminal than making moonshine? Are you involved in some sort of cult, Warren?" She stood very close to him, only inches away. "Tell me, Warren. I know you want to tell me."
"I--well, yes, I do want to tell you, Mother," he said, looking away from her. "I do, but--it's just--it's not just me, it's these five other people in the picture, too."
"You know something, Warren?"
He sighed. "I know a lot more than I want to."
"You think of them more as your family than you did Warren and I."
He stood there, drop-mouthed, unable to speak. He didn't know if he could get anything out of his mouth unless someone dropped a hammer on his toe, and maybe it wouldn't even happen then.
"Oh, you don't need to deny it," said Kathryn. "First we packed you off to military school. You quit that and went up to New York City, and we were about to come up there and drag you back by your ears. Then you met this Xavier person, and he convinced us both to let you enroll in his academy. Your grades went up, you seemed a lot more dedicated to schoolwork than you were before, and we believed he was a good influence on you."
"The greatest influence," said Warren. "After you and Dad, of course."
"But there was always something, I don't know, a little bizarre about that place. Areas we couldn't see, weren't admitted to. As if we were on a military base or something."
"In a way," Warren admitted, "you were."
"So you were involved with the Army?"
"No," he said. "Not the military. But go ahead. I...ah, crap!" He buried his head in his arms and his shoulders began to shake.
"Warren," said Kathryn, gently, touching his shoulder. He shrank back.
He was crying.
"Dammit to hell, my father is dead," he said. "My father is dead and we sit here and, talk, and..."
He couldn't say any more. By that time, Kathryn was crying, too.
-X-
The simple act of getting ready to go outside, in times of grief, becomes inordinately complex. Warren found himself unable to do a decent enough job shaving, even with an electric, and decided to hell with the places on his neck and under his lip that were hard to get. He changed shirts, rolling his Ban on five times under each arm. The wings still ached, and he felt like yelling at them to be quiet.
God, he wanted to get into the sky again. He wanted to free himself of this harness, get on one of his outfits, whether the yellow, red, or blue one, and soar into the heavens, immerse himself in the fogginess of the low clouds, look at the countryside from the vantage point that made it a strategic map.
But he couldn't do that now. He had to check in on Candy.
She was lucky. Of the four principals in the Dazzler affair, she was one of the two that had lived.
A buzzer sounded in the next room. It was the phone intercom, somebody wanting to call him. Half in and half out of his white monogrammed shirt, Warren lurched into the other room and grabbed it. "Yeah?"
"A call for you, Master Warren," said Curtis, the butler. "From Mr. Summers."
"Ah, okay, put him on, put him on," said Warren, trying to do one of his cuff links as he cradled the phone between head and shoulder. What the hell did Cyke want this time? If Magneto was on tap again, he was all in favor of stepping out of this one.
"Warren?" said Scott. "How you feeling?"
"'Bout as always, Scott," Warren replied, getting into his second sleeve and trying not to tear it at the elbow. "What's up?"
"Got something big to tell you," Scott said. "Feel like you're ready for it?"
Warren stopped, held the phone in one hand. "What is it?"
"Warren, we're breaking up the X-Men," said Scott.
"What?"
His own voice sounded as far away as if he were at one end of the Lincoln Tunnel and it were at the other.
"We're leaving the school," said Scott. "All of us, Jean, myself, Bobby, and Hank. We just figured it was time."
"You figured it was time," said Warren, sitting down on a plastic chair, hard.
"Uh huh. We've been...together, too long. Away from the world too long. Also we just couldn't go back to life under the Professor, after all this time on our own."
"I see," said Warren. But he didn't.
"Warren, are you all right?"
"What the hell do you expect me to be, Scott? My father's dead. Now you tell me that the team is breaking up. Was this your idea?"
"It was all of our idea, big guy. We've grown up. You know that. We're not 16-year-olds anymore."
"Sounds like the lamest excuse I ever heard. What about Magneto?"
"We'll still be around, as individuals, Warren. Maybe even as a team, later on. But this isn't about Magneto. It isn't even about the team. It's about me, and Jeannie, and Hank, and Bobby, and you. And I think you know it."
Warren held his peace.
"Warren? Are you there?"
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm here."
"Your decision is your own, old friend. But we've got to find our own individual lives again. If we stayed in the mansion anymore...well, it's a bigger trap than the Danger Room. And a lot deadlier."
A sigh. "Scott, you could have told me. You could have asked me about it beforehand."
"We didn't want to hurt you, Warren. You'd been through enough already."
"Oh, yeah." Sarcasm. He didn't want to hurt Scott...hell, they'd banged heads a lot of times before, but he gave Summers more respect in the end than anyone this side of Xavier. But now all he was saying was verbal brickbats to bounce off the guy on the other end. His brother in arms. His fellow X-Man.
Except there weren't any more X-Men, if what he was saying was true.
"Besides, we had to make the decision right then," Scott continued. "The Professor's recovered. We just couldn't keep up that illusion for him anymore."
"Yeah," said Warren. "An illusion that he had five people that cared about him."
"You want me to call back later, Warren?"
"No. I just--look, I'm sorry, Scott. It just really still isn't a good time, you know? I'm still hurting."
"You want to talk about it?"
"Like what's to say? That I didn't see him enough from my fifteenth year till two weeks ago? That I wish to God I had a father who played more ball with me, was there for me when I came in at night, could tell me about growing up from his perspective? Maybe somebody I could've done some good, being there when he needed me? Maybe somebody who could've kept him out of that, that thing with my uncle? And I could've had it, Scott. I could'a had it, if..."
A long beat of silence. Finally, Scott said, "Say it, Warren."
"If there hadn't been the X-Men," said Warren, as dully as a rock dropping into a puddle.
Softly, Scott said, "Now you know why we had to do it. Don't you, Warren?"
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do."
"You want me to come down there and see you, Warren? I could bring Jeannie, if you'd like. She'd like to see you, too."
"That's all right, Scott. I'm sure we'll get together pretty soon, anyway. That's the way these things go."
"I hope you will, Warren, because Jeannie and I are getting married soon, and I'd like you to be best man. If you can make it, that is."
"You what?"
"I'm getting married to Jean," said Scott. "That's another reason we're leaving."
"Holy--ah, Scott. Quit making the elevator go up and down. I--" He laughed, nervously. "This is a dream, right? I'm gonna wake up any minute and find out that it was all a dream. Everything's getting yanked out from under me too quickly, Scott."
"Maybe that's why you've got wings, Warren. So you can fly, when they do."
"Oh, great metaphor, Scott." He paused. "Look. I'm sorry."
"Forget it. You're entitled, buddy. I know what happened."
"Yeah."
"But look at it this way. You had a father for all these years of your life. Even if you didn't get to see him as much as you think you should've. I can hardly remember my father, Warren. I can't even remember his face."
"I'm sorry about that, Scott."
"It's all right. Just part of the game, Warren." A pause. "Look. You really sure you'll be all right?"
"Oh, yeah. No razors in the bathtub for me. I was just on my way to see Candy. Want me to see if she wants to come, too?"
"Sure," said Scott. "She knows us. I'd be glad to have her there."
"Scott."
"Yes, Warren?"
"Look. I know that I was hard to get along with, early on."
"Oh, come on, Warren--"
"No, no, just listen to me. Just listen. I know I was an arrogant little son of a you know what. Maybe it was the money, maybe it was wanting to prove myself the best...I've always been that way. Maybe that was because I had so much to measure up to. My dad, he achieved so much. I knew...I know...that I can't ever equal him. I'd be nowhere near the businessman he was."
"You might surprise yourself, Warren."
"Thanks, Scott, but I know it. The thing is, I couldn't be better than him, so I had to settle for trying to be better than everybody else. I'm sure it was hard on you all, a lot of the time."
"You got over it. Or don't you recall?"
"I got over it because we were a team, and we had to be a team," said Warren. "I remember when you hit me with that eye-blast when we were fighting El Tigre. It laid me up for awhile. I was hurt, and I accused you of doing it on purpose, because we both wanted Jeannie. You do remember that, don't you?"
"I've tried to forget it, Warren."
"Well, I can't. Because it was the godawfullest, rottenest thing I've ever said. I know I've apologized a lot for it, Scott, but I'll never apologize enough."
"Look," said Scott. "You were injured. Don't you think I felt pretty damned bad about hitting you with my eye-blast, like that? Do you think you were the only bad guy in that incident?"
"You did it by accident," said Warren. "I said what I did because I wanted to hurt you. I said it, maybe, because..."
He made himself finish the sentence.
"...because maybe I was thinking that it'd make you feel guilty enough to give up Jeannie and let me have her," said Warren. "But, y'know something, Scott? I'm glad you didn't."
"I'm glad you feel that way, Warren. But that isn't the incident I'd most like to remember, with you. I remember the times we helped each other against Magneto, against the Sentinels, Factor Three, all the rest. I remember how we all felt when that radiation burst made you crazy, turned you against us, made you fight Iron Man. You remember that?"
"Uh, yeah," said Warren, embarrassed. "I remember."
"You wouldn't believe how badly we all felt when you said you were leaving us, Warren. And that was still in your, well, your 'ego days'. But every one of us, Jean, Hank, Bobby, and myself, we couldn't stand to go on without you by our side. We were just damned glad that we didn't have to."
"Thank you, Scott," said Warren, quietly. "I'm damned glad I didn't have to, either."
"Hey, the X-Men wouldn't have been the X-Men without the Angel," said Scott. "Don't ever forget that, Warren. Don't ever forget it."
"No more than I'd forget you," Warren said. "So, before I forget about it...congratulations. And where's the wedding going to be held?"
"Thank you, and it'll be the fourth of next month, at the Methodist church in Jean's home town. You'd better show up, or I'll get a Sentinel to come fetch you."
"A Sentinel couldn't keep me away," said Warren. "Hey, you give my best to Jeannie. Tell her she's still really the tops."
"I will."
"Tell Bobby and Hank for me, too," said Warren, stumbling for words. "Tell 'em...tell 'em they were the greatest."
"I'll do it, Warren."
"Just like you, Scott."
"Thanks, Warren. You were the greatest, too. I mean that."
Warren sighed. "Think we'll get together again, Scott?"
"Don't know, Warren. We've got to find a way to get apart, first."
"Yeah, you're right. I think we can do it, though. Scott, I gotta go."
"Okay, but let me give you my number, first." Scott read him off a seven-digit number, plus an area code. "If you have trouble, if you're just feeling too down, or anything, call me. I want you to do that, Warren."
"Thanks, Scott. I'll keep in touch."
"Okay, brother. You'd better hit the road now, or you'll interrupt her watching Johnny Carson's monologue."
"Funneee. Catch you later, Scotty."
"Best of luck, Warren."
"Thanks."
The phone clicked off.
He listened to the tone for five seconds, then finished getting dressed.
-X-
It wasn't quite sunset when Warren pulled up before the Sothern home. They knew who was driving the XK-E, as they would have known if he had taken the Camaro. It was a nice enough house--Candy's folks had made good money buying into oil--but he wasn't concerned with architecture or landscaping just then. He banged the knocker. The maid let him in. Candy's mother was watching TV in the front room. The maid announced him, he had a bit of conversation with the mistress of the house, accepted her words of condolence gratefully, and was then escorted to Candy's room. The door had to remain halfway open while he was there.
As he entered, he saw a framed magazine cover featuring the X-Men on one of her walls.
Candy herself was lying on her bed, covers up to her waist, wearing a green Vassar sweatshirt that concealed the bandages about her midsection. Her TV was also on, but she shut it off with the remote when she saw Warren. "Hi," she said.
She had a wan smile, but it was still nice to see.
Warren clumped over to her bed in his brown boots. He pulled a chair over, sat on it, grasped her right hand in both of his. "So. How's the most beautiful body I've seen in at least..."
Candy said, "A week?"
"No, more like the last 30 minutes." He grinned. She did, too, but slapped his hands with her left.
"Better," she admitted. "I'm not ready to twist like we did last summer, but I'm getting around okay. Just a little slow." She snuggled down a bit in her covers. "It's good to see you."
"You, too. How'd the psych evaluation go?"
Candy said, "Doesn't seem to be any lasting damage, at least according to the shrinks. Considering what was s'posed to have happened at the Dazzler place, I'm pretty grateful I was hypnotized. Out of it."
"Yeah." Warren recalled how he'd seen Candy in the Dazzler's lair, in a trance state inside a plexiglass tube. The villain had used her as a bargaining piece against him, and it had almost worked. She was better off not knowing how the battle had raged, how she was almost dropped from a great height to her death, and how the Dazzler had been turned into a red splatter on the ground below them.
"Have you eaten?" asked Candy.
"No, not yet. Thought we could maybe go out and get something. That sound all right by you?"
"Do you really want to? Do you feel up to it? Mom and I were going to eat in tonight. Sharon can cook for three as easily as for two."
Warren rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Yeah, I want to take you out. I need to. I'm up for it, I just want to make sure you are."
"Long as you don't hit a pothole big enough to throw me out of the car." He smiled at that.
"Warren?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry to the extreme about your father's death. Even your uncle's."
"Thank you."
"Do you--" She paused. "Do you still--"
He looked at her with a halfway grim expression. "If what you're about to ask me is, do I still blame you for being out on a date with you when my uncle killed my brother, no. I do not. I know I might have acted that way just then, might have said some things I certainly regretted later, but, no. It wasn't your fault. I was just looking around for something to yell at."
"Thank you, Warren," she said. "If that's what it took, I guess I'm glad I was there to be yelled at."
"Don't be," he said. "I'm not going to yell at you tonight. Get dressed and I'll watch a little TV with your mom."
He left the room.
-X-
Candy felt comfortable parking with Warren. Despite his roguishness, he had a sense of honor. She didn't want to go beyond necking, and he never did. Not yet, anyway. Also, she sensed that when he met her, he had been burned in one of those love-triangle things straight out of a Harlequin novel. So he was more hesitant about giving his heart, and that gave them both time to develop some affection. That was why she felt safe with him, and enjoyed his company.
But she wondered if he was really in love with her. There was a point of secrecy with Warren beyond which she had not yet been able to push. It had to do, she sensed, with the Xavier academy. He'd given her a tour of the grounds once, after she'd met the other students (only four) at a birthday party for Bobby Drake. She felt that she hadn't seen all of the place, and speculated what was behind those locked doors she discovered.
Then, just recently, that horrible man called the Dazzler had kidnapped her for some reason, hypnotized her, and apparently threatened her life. That X-Man, the Angel, had saved her, and the Dazzler had died. Great riddance. Especially since she'd learned he killed Warren's father.
But when Warren had heard of the murder, he was out with her in his car. He said he could have been at his father's side, fighting off the Dazzler, if he hadn't been on a date with her. She wondered how he could have done any good against a super-villain, actually, but the killing was a horrible, horrible thing. She didn't blame Warren for being as shaken as he was, and wondered why it didn't shake him up more than it had.
So there they were, parked on the proverbial hillside in his convertible, looking out at the lights of a small suburban town. Nice.
"Glad you're here tonight, Candy," he admitted.
She snuggled closer under his arm. "Glad to hear you saying that. I thought you'd never say it again."
"Look, I apologized," he said. "I seem to be doing that a lot, lately."
"It's all right, Warren. Believe me, it's all right. I know what happened. You've been through something terrible. So have I."
"Yeah," he said. "You were lucky to be in a trance state. I had to be awake for it all."
"I know," said Candy. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Well, me, for one thing," he said, "and then us."
"And then us? Okay," said Candy. "Tell me about you."
Warren sighed, gathering his thoughts. "It doesn't look like I'll be going back to the Xavier academy."
"Huh? That's odd. I mean, haven't you been going there for years and years?"
"Eight years, to be exact. But my pal Scott just called today and told me that he and the rest of the class are leaving. So, I decided to do the same."
"Why? I mean, for cripes' sake, can't you keep on with the school if you want to? What difference does them leaving make?"
"Candy, Candy. Baby. Listen, it's more than just a school." He paused. "It's more like a cooperative, like a collective, if you want. We were--the five of us were one thing. And now that one thing is gone, five separate ways. I'm sorry I can't say it more clearly than that."
"Warren."
"Yeah?"
She shifted in the seat to bring her out of Warren's arms, so that she could look at him. "Are you involved in some sort of government deal? Some sort of spy organization?"
"Not exactly," he admitted. "I can't tell you right now."
"Why not?"
"Because giving away one secret, my secret, would be giving away five
secrets. And four of them aren't mine."
Candy looked at her hands in the moonlight, and wondered when one of
them would wear a ring. "Warren, we've been going together for several
years now. You always put up a stone wall when I ask about some things
in your life."
"Yeah, I'm sorry that I have to."
"If you want to get more serious than this, as in, maybe, married, I need to know about these things." She paused. "At least some of them. Enough to where I know what kind of a guy you really are."
"Married."
"Yes."
"You really want to marry me?"
Candy bent forward, a twinge of pain in her ribcage announcing its presence, and took both of Warren's hands in hers. "Of course I do. You're intelligent, handsome, a good guy, and fun to be with. Plus Mom isn't worried about it being a step down in social status." She wrinkled her nose. "She's like that."
"Are you?"
"I hope not!"
"So it wouldn't be just for the money? If you married me?"
"Not just for it, no. But it'd be pretty nice."
He put one arm about her neck, drew her a bit closer, and kissed the top of her head. "We're talking about us before I meant to. But I don't mind a bit."
"Glad you don't."
"I've still got something to say about me."
"So go ahead and say it."
Warren leaned back against the door of his car. "I'm having to face up to something I don't particularly want to. The business. Worthington Steel."
"Don't you inherit it?"
"Still got to be approved by the board. I've got lots of stock, yeah. The family holds most of the company. But the board would have to approve me as director."
"Don't you think they would?"
"I suppose so, if I can convince them I wouldn't mess things up too much. The problem is, I don't know if I want to."
Candy shifted again. "Ouch. Don't worry, it's just the ribs. Next question, Warren: why don't you want to?"
Warren shook his head. "Because it means giving up something that I've been doing for a long time, Candy. Something I know how to do, something I do very well, something, heck, I love doing. It's been my life for the past eight years."
"Warren, either tell me what it is, or stop talking about it entirely. I can't keep on with you like this."
He turned his face towards her, and even in the moonlight she could see he'd made a decision.
"This," he said.
He stepped out of the car and began taking off his clothes. "Warren," she said, in fear.
"Don't worry, it's not like that," he said, unbuttoning his shirt. "It's like this."
There was a yellow skin-tight shirt underneath the blue shirt he was wearing. For an intant, she wondered why in the hell he was wearing two shirts. It wasn't that cold out there.
In the next instant, she recognized the shirt.
"Warren," she said.
Within half a minute, he had taken off his outer clothing, put on his blue mask, undone his harness, and spread his great white wings to their fullest extent. She could see the smile of relief on his face. Then he leaped into the air, the wings beat furiously, and he was flying.
Flying.
She saw his moon-silvered form diving and soaring at least a hundred feet over her head, performing aerial maneuvers straight out of a World War I flying flick. Immelman turns, backrolls, flips, all the rest. But without a plane.
Several minutes later, he landed near the car. He was sweating, his wings still faintly beating, his breath coming heavily. But he was smiling. Smiling as if what he had just done was the reason for which he had been created.
When he finally spoke, he said, "I'd have taken you with me, if I'd thought it wouldn't have hurt you."
"My God, Warren," she blurted. "You never told me you were the Angel!"
"I couldn't," he said.
"Then that means you--" Candy fumbled for words, for breath. "When you left me that night, when we heard the news your father had been killed--"
"I left to become the Angel," he replied. "I left to try to find out who'd done it." He looked a bit grimmer now, as well he might.
"And you rescued me," said Candy.
"That's right. I did."
Images fluttered through the backdoor of Candy's mind. Pictures she had seen of the X-Men, of some of their foes, either in magazines or on brief TV news clips. Stories she'd read of the heroes, in Time, Life, Newsweek, or the daily papers.
Warren was the Angel.
Warren was an X-Man.
Warren was...
"You're a mutant," she said, almost in a whisper.
"That's right," he said. "Does that change anything?"
"Well, it...it changes a lot," she admitted. "There's just so, so much more to deal with now, I..."
"Do you still feel the same about me?"
She looked at him for a long time before she answered.
"I hope so," she said. "But, Warren...you've been risking your life, haven't you?"
"Uh huh."
"Risking it every time you go out with the X-Men, haven't you?"
"That's generally the case, Candy."
"Then I don't know, Warren. I just don't know."
He got dressed without speaking, got into the car, and started it up. He looked at her. "You have to keep this all a secret. A very deep, dark, secret."
"I will. I promise. But..."
"We'll talk about this later," he said.
They said nothing, all the rest of the way to her house.
-X-
In the morning, he came downstairs to find his mother helping Irene, the cook, make omelets for breakfast. Just to have something to do, he supposed.
"H'lo, Mom, Irene," he said, standing there in his robe and PJ's, both monogrammed. "It smells great."
Mrs. Worthington looked up, smiled wanly. "I may not be up to Irene's caliber, son, but I can cook. One of the things that gave me the edge with your father over those girls who just had looks."
"I'm sure. Um, we need to talk. After breakfast, that is."
Irene said, "I'll be absentin' myself after the omelets are served, Mister Warren. I knows how it is with conversations 'twixt moms and sons, I've got three myself."
"Thanks, Irene," said Warren. "I appreciate it."
So, once the meal was on the table and the two of them were alone, Kathryn was first to speak. "The Richmond Group is making noises about taking more control of the company," she said.
Warren snorted. "Kyle Richmond? That son of a-- Well, you know, Mom. I wouldn't sell to him if you dipped my feet in molten lava."
"Well," she said, "the problem is that we haven't appointed a new president of the company yet. You haven't announced any intention to try for it, yet."
"Richmond's the CEO of his company in name only," said Warren. "His assistant makes all the decisions."
She waited.
"I'm having to give up something I know about for something I've never done," he said.
"People have to do that very often, Warren."
"Do you think I could do it?"
Kathryn tented her fingers. "I could help you. I didn't spend all these years by your father's side without learning something about the business. A lot about it, actually."
"I suppose he relied on you quite a bit."
She smiled.
"I guess sometime we all have to grow up," said Warren. "Maybe it's time I grew up, too."
"Meaning?" Kathryn looked at him with caution.
"Meaning you can convene a meeting of the board later today. I'll be there. I'll tell them to put me in the running for the new CEO job."
She smiled, and lay her hand on top of his. "I love you, son."
"Love you back, Mom. But I can't count on that from the board!"
"Business is just putting into practical application the lessons you've learned in school, Warren, with a lot of experience you'll have to gain on the way," she said. "But you can't learn it just by staying in school."
"No," he said. "I don't suppose I can. Guess I can put the masters on hold for awhile. Or take courses while I'm working. What the hell, I'm sure it's been done before."
"So no more Xavier academy?"
"No more," said Warren. "I guess I've learned everything there I could."
She smiled again, and kissed him on the forehead. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."
"Okay if I make a phone call, Mom?"
"Of course. Give Candy my best regards."
He smiled wryly and got up from the table. But the first call he made was to Professor Xavier. They tried to sum up the experience of all their years together, failed in part, succeeded in part, and went on. Warren told the professor his decision, told him he would have to bring in Candy for a partial memory blockage that would leave her ignorant of the other five X-Men's identities. He agreed, and wished Warren well.
Then he called up Candy.
"Hi," he said.
"Hello, Warren."
"Got something to tell you."
"I'm waiting."
"I've decided to...well, I'm taking the CEO job, if they'll let me have it."
"Great!"
"But being a businessman is a full-time option, in this case. That means I won't have time for other things I used to do."
"Other things like...?"
"Like what I used to do at the academy."
"Oh."
"Don't get me wrong, Candy. I'll still be doing my little hobby of flying. But I don't think I'll be doing the other stuff I used to. I'll leave that to the others that do that sort of thing."
"I'm glad, Warren."
"You know, Candy," he said, cautiously, "it helps convince a board of stability if the guy they're considering for a position is married."
"Well, would it help a teensy bit if you were even engaged?"
"I think," he said, "that might be a thing they'd take into consideration. Especially if I was engaged to a marvelous girl like you."
"Get the ring and we'll talk about it. And Warren?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't consider yourself a fallen Angel, okay?"
He chuckled, then sighed. "How's about only halfway fallen, okay? You have to leave some things behind, but you carry some things with you. The things you're born with."
"I understand, Warren."
"Thanks. I'll see you later tonight. Hope to have some good news for you."
"You already have."
They clicked off.
He went out of the house, down to the remotest area of the property, among a copse of trees. When he was satisfied that no one else was about, Warren stripped off his sweatsuit, stood revealed in his red uniform, the one he'd first worn in 1963, and loosened his harness again.
Then he flew.
It was a long time before he considered coming back to Earth.
****
Next: Something about Bobby and Hank.