I don't own X-Men, blah blah...
I hope you all like how things are going so far. I really didn't expect so many reviews! Thanks to everyone who hasreplied and repeat replied. You guys don't know how that brightens my day. It makes writing this thing all the more fun.

Enjoy,

--P

It was just his luck that it would rain.

He hadn't been paying attention to the gathering clouds when he went smashing through the window of his father's building. As he flew out over the city, Warren still didn't pay much mind to the sky above him or the bustle below. The only thing he really gave much thought to at all was how much of a drastic step he had just taken.

He'd turned his back on his father. He'd told one of the most powerful men in America: "No."

But there was no other choice, was there? There was no way his father was just going to let him walk out of that room. There was no way that Dr. Rao was going to let him leave without first jabbing that horrible needle at him. It was do or die; fight or flight.

So Warren flew away. At the last minute, when he was so sure he wanted to part with his wings, Warren broke a window (I could have cut himself to pieces! he thinks now) and flew out over San Francisco like some symbol of mutant liberation.

People below had cheered at him as he flew off. Little they knew that he was no rebel or upstart, merely a boy scared of his father and finally running--or flying--away with everything he had. At the time, so filled with adrenaline, he'd actually wondered why he hadn't taken such a step sooner.

Now, alone, cold, and wet on some building's roof in San Francisco, Warren knows why.

I'm weak. He thinks. Dad was right, I am a freak; I am weak. This is why I can't make it on my own... this is why I can't make it without him.

A voice behind him calls: "Good lord, get in here this instant before you catch pneumonia."

Warren spreads his expansive wings instinctively, but in this downpour flight is impossible.

"Yes, yes, they're lovely. Now tuck those down and come in." The voice calls again.

Looking behind him, Warren sees a man in a dark pink bathrobe with a cat-shaped umbrella standing halfway out of an open skylight.

"I'm just waiting until the rains stops. I'm sorry. I don't want any trouble."

"Pish!" The man chirps. "Rain can last for days. Come inside and out of this wet and I'll make you some tea or something. Come on, now." With that, the man in the pink bathrobe ducks back down into the skylight.

Cautiously, Warren schleps to the edge of the open skylight and peeks inside. Below is a softly lit, nicely furnished apartment, and the bathrobed man holding a large beach towel.

"Do try to hurry, I'd rather not let the whole of the water in my apartment with you."

Warren manages to climb down inside the skylight without bumping his wings too much, and he quickly finds himself being toweled mercilessly.

"Sorry, but you're pretty well soaked, and I…"

"I can do it myself." Warren remarks hesitantly, taking the towel from the man. He doesn't want to appear rude but the stranger was rubbing his feathers in quite an uncomfortable fashion.

"Of course." The man in the bathrobe replies politely, backing away to observe the process.

It's now that Warren gets a proper look at his would-be caretaker. He's not old, but he's not as young as winged mutant himself. His hair is short, well taken care of, brown, and a little damp from the escapades outside the skylight. He has expressive eyes and a pleasant smile.

"I suppose we'll save introductions for the tea." The man says. "What do you take in yours?"

"Uh… I've never taken tea."

"I'll surprise you, then." And with that he's walking around the chestnut colored sofa and off into the kitchenette. The sound of the rain tapping the skylight punctuates the otherwise comfortingly calm apartment. The furniture is sparse but comfortable looking, and the overall ambiance is earth tone. It reminds Warren of a coffee house he visited once.

Despite being entranced by his new surroundings, Warren continues drying himself off. It's a rather arduous task. His body is relatively easy, mind you, Warren not having the time to put on a shirt since his escape. However, his pants and wings are soaked, and the huge feathered appendages are not the easiest things to dry with a beach towel.

A tea kettle sounds, and in minutes the bathrobed man returns to the living room carrying thin white saucers with dainty tea cups. "I figured you'd like it better sweet, so you got the full treatment: honey, sugar, lemon peel…"

"You didn't have to…" Warren begins.

The man in the robe cuts him off with a wave of his hand. His voice reminds Warren of someone he's known forever. Every phrase pitched perfectly and without a hint of possible animosity. "Oh, stuff it. It's not every day that a shirtless angel shows up on my roof. I can spare some tea."

Warren gingerly sips at his tea. It's hot, but not at all unappealing. It quickly makes him forget how cold he was on the roof.

"Here." The robed man says. "Let me go find you some dryer clothes so you can sit down."

"But…"

"Shush!"

The man drifts off into one of the rooms, returning with a pair of pajama pants and an oversized white t-shirt. "It's old, so we can cut some holes in the back for you if you want. Lord knows I won't wear it. Of course, if you want to walk around without your shirt on, you certainly won't find me complaining."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm sorry. I'm sure I must seem like such a terror." He extends a hand, meeting Warren's eyes and smiling broadly. "I'm Christian, but do call me Chris."

"Warren." He shakes the man's hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Warren." Chris motions behind him. "My bedroom is in there. The bathroom is just on the other side if you want to change."

When Warren finishes changing, he comes back into the living room to find Christian sitting at one end of the couch, quietly sipping his tea. Warren's cup is resting on the tiny table at the opposite end of the couch. "I really don't want to be a bother."

Christian looks up. "You're not. It would have bothered me more knowing you were out there in the cold." He's calmer now, his voice less pitched and theatric than it was when he was darting around the apartment. "Besides, like I said, it's not everyday you can have tea with an angel."

"I'm not an angel."

Christian laughs. "Well let's see… you're blonde, beautiful, and you have wings. You landed on my roof, it seems, from Heaven itself. What else would you call yourself?"

"A mutant."

The man on the couch darkens a little. "Come sit." He pats a spot next to him.

"I can't." Warren admits rather sadly. "It hurts them to sit."

"Then you may sit on the arm of my couch, or you can pile some cushions on the floor. However you'd be most comfortable."

"Really?"

He scoffs. "Well certainly. What kind of host would I be if I made my guest sit in a way that bothered him?"

Warren moves to the arm of the couch opposite to Christian. Without much effort he climbs onto the arm and sits on it side-saddle. His wings are left comfortably half-opened.

"I see you opted to go without the shirt." Christian remarks, playing at the edge of his tea cup with a finger.

"I didn't want to cut it."

Christian shrugs. "Well you won't he a peep out of me in the negative."

They're both quiet for a moment.

"Thank you." Warren says, looking down at his hands. "For, you know, the tea and everything."

"It's nothing." Christian sips his own tea again."You're more than welcome to stay the night, Warren. My bed is pretty big, so you're wings should be comfortable. I can take the couch."

"I couldn't."

"And why not?"

"You've already… and… you do understand that I'm a mutant. I'm not an angel. I didn't come from heaven. I am a mutant and if people see you with me, see me here…"

Christian holds up a hand. "Stop."

"But…"

"I'm not an idiot. I know you're a mutant."

Warren keeps his head down, eyes on his hands "I'm sorry. I wasn't implying that you…"

"I know you're a mutant, and I don't care, alright?" Christian scoots a little closer to Warren, moving his hand up to the younger man's chin and lifting it so as to meet his eyes. "Mutant you may be, but you're still a person; a person who needed a little warmth and good cheer. Who am I to turn you or anyone else away because they're different than myself? I've seen too many people in my life--beautiful people like you--turned away, unloved and unwanted, purely because of something beyond their control. Biology is biology, no matter how you slice it."

Warren wants to look away, he wants to crawl into a dark hole and not have to meet Christian's gaze. He's ashamed. He's scared. He's unaware of how to cope with this sudden flood of warm, unrelenting, acceptance. It's not something he's experienced before.

"So," Christian continues. "If I say you're an angel, well then, you're an angel, darling. Nothing to it. You understand? Human, mutant, well… they'd be daft to call you anything else."

The winged mutant cries. He wrenches his chin away from Christian's soft grip and hides his face behind a hand. He doesn't like crying. His father always told him it was weakness.

Warren will cry for only a little longer. Christian won't say anything. He'll sit next to Warren and pat him on the shoulder from time to time. When hedries his eyes, apologizes embarrassedly, Christian will tell him it's ok. He'll tell him sometimes crying can be better than anything else in the world.

Warren will agree to stay the night, and in the morning, he'll wake up to find Christian, already dressed and devoid of his pink bathrobe, making pancakes and French toast. They'll have breakfast. The rain will clear off sometime in the early afternoon.

Before Warren leaves, Christian will dig through his closet. He'll give him some nice sweaters, nice pants, a new pair of shoes, and a long brown coat: I won't wear them, and I'd much rather you have them than that tacky thrift store down the way!

He'll make the younger mana sandwich: Lord knows when you'll get a decent meal.

Christian will give Warren his number and make him promise to call when he's found someplace safe and gets on his feet. He'll make Warren promise to call if he's ever in San Francisco again.

Warren will try to thank Christian, but he'll feel awkward. He won't know how to pay back the man for his kindness. Christian will laugh it off and send thehimon his way.

Christian will walk Warren to the bus, wave goodbye, and return to his apartment.

He'll wash his towels and make his bed. He'll find a feather on the floor in the bathroom--long and creamy white. Christian will put the feather on his coffee table, but will not tell anyone how he came by it. No one will ask.