I had to write another chapter.
I don't own X-Men or anything like that; I make no profit.

Enjoy,

--P.

"Don't drop me!"

"I'm not going to drop you." Warren states, voice almost dead. He doesn't look at his father. "I wouldn't drop you."

Below the two, far below now that Warren has climbed to a safer distance, the battle continues to rage. Brilliant flashes of red light and muffled explosions dot the island. Every so often a lightning bolt will seem to form out of thin air and illuminate the fog and shadows.

Mr. Worthington cringes, trying to hold on tighter to his son's shoulders, over which he's now haphazardly draped by one arm. "How horrible. I don't even know what happened to Kavita…"

Warren pumps his wings, entering a slow-spiral climb that lifts the two higher above the island. From this height, the moon looks enormous, it's pale surface a perfect match to the winged mutant's plumage. He doesn't match his father's sentiment for the possibly late Dr. Rao. She was a nice enough woman, but her intentions and practices left a cold spot in Warren's heart.

"How much higher… how much higher can you go?" Mr. Worthington asks, his gaze directed at the shimmering bay and (now tiny) battle-torn island below.

A tinge of bitterness. "I don't know. I never really got a chance to fly before this week."

Mr. Worthington doesn't say anything else, not even when his left shoe--part of an expensive pair he wishes he hadn't worn today--slips off and falls towards the water below.

"Hold on, ok?"

"What are you going to--"

Warren tucks his wings back and dives towards the lights of the city. The white feathers become a blur as his father's voice becomes a shrill and pleading cry in his ear. He pays it no mind. Warren has a good grip and if he dropped the man at this altitude he's is pretty sure he could catch his father again without much effort.

"Why are you doing this?"

"It's faster than flapping."

The wind whips through the winged mutant's hair, sending it backwards into upswept spikes of blonde. His father's tie unravels and is lost over the city as they careen onwards at over sixty miles per hour.

"Do you even know where you're going? How can you see at night? Warren, slow down!" Worthington's veins are bulging on his neck as he tries to scream above the wind. His eyes are shut, too scared to look at the world flying by.

Warren flares his wings with a violent whooshing noise, suddenly halting the dive. A few of his primary feathers fall out from the strain, but it's nothing serious. He shakes his father for emphasis as he speaks. "If you say one more word, one more, that demeans the fact that I saved your life and am now ferrying you to safety, I will leave you at the top of the highest building I can find!"

"Warren I…"

"I don't want to hear it!" It's the most anger and outright defiance the mutant has ever showed his father, other than the day he jumped out of the office building's window. "You are probably one of the most hated men in all of the world right now, try to show a bit of gratitude."

The older man's jaw remains open in surprise at his son's sudden development of spine. They fly onwards for a minute or so more before Warren speaks again, voice back to it's usual semi-quiet tone. "Ok, I'm sorry I yelled. I know where we're going and I can see fine because of the lights."

The man nods.

"And… I'm sure there's some people that don't hate you."

Another nod.

Warren narrows his eyes. "Nuns or something."

Worthington smiles slightly, even though the joke was directed at his character. This is the most he's directly spoken to his son in years; the most of his son's personality he's seen in years. "Is it… hard to do?"

"What?"

"Fly?"

Warren raises an eyebrow at his father. "Why do you ask?"

"It looks hard to me, like it would take a lot of concentration." He tries as hard as he can to keep his tone polite, still not sure how his son would take such question. Worthington's curiosity is sincere, however, and he means no insult.

"It's… well… it really isn't at all. I can't explain it. It's like the knowledge to do it has been inside me all along, I just never got a chance to know it until I was on the wing."

"That's my fault, I suppose."

Silence.

"Well, it is my fault. No supposing about it."

Warren stays silent, unaccustomed to someone as powerful as his father admitting guilt or admitting he was wrong.

Worthington looks away from his son and out at the city, at the cars below, at the passing orbs of the streetlights underneath his feet. He looks at his shoeless left foot, the argyle sock exposed and somewhat clown-like in appearance. Worthington thinks to himself how ridiculous he must seem. Here he is--a pudgy graying man, missing a shoe and his tie--sailing above the city of San Francisco, fleeing from a war of his own design (however unintentional). He's in the debt of his son's wings, the same wings he tried to strip him of just days prior. Now he's admitting he was wrong, too late after the fact to look like anything more than a fool.

Worthington thinks he must look incredibly ridiculous indeed.

He's still musing to himself when his feet touch down on the tar and gravel roof of some building. "We've stopped?"

"Yeah."

"What is this place?" Worthington looks around. The roof is empty except for a single raised glass skylight. A soft glow shines from the interior.

"It's safe. My friend lives here." Warren folds his wings along his back, tries to straighten his windblown hair, and steps nimbly to the edge of skylight, tapping at it with a knuckle.

Worthington looks out at the city again. It has a sort of calming presence. The sounds of sirens prevail now that he's closer to the ground and can hear them, but it's almost as if the city has no idea there's a battle going on offshore. Worthington wonders to himself if it's too late to take it all back, to start over. It'd be simple to stop producing the cure now that his main lab was all but destroyed. His company wouldn't suffer--it has other endeavors and investors. He could issue a statement of apology.

It probably wouldn't be enough, though. At least he was a alive. At least Warren was alive.

"What do you want?" A harsh female voice issues from the open skylight.

Warren steps back, a little surprised. "Um… is Chris… this is Christian's apartment right?"

"Who wants to know?" A blonde woman with sharp blue eyes and a rather perturbed look on her face sticks her head out of the skylight. It takes her a moment to notice Warren's wings, but when she does, her face softens. She almost smiles. "Well, the little twit was telling the truth."

"What?"

"I'm afraid Chris has gone to bed, darling. You'll have to call on him some other night. He'll be sorry he missed you though. I'm certain of that." Her eyes hold a mischievous glint makes Warren a little nervous.

"Are we going to have to leave?" Worthington asks his son. "Where would we go?"

The blonde woman blinks at the sound of a new person. "Who is that?"

"My father."

"Oh wow that's fast, parents so soon?" She successfully holds back a wry laugh.

"Emma, what the hell are you doing up there?" Christian's voice barks from the interior of the apartment.

"Nothing, Chris." She remarks drolly. "It's not like you'd be interested in random angels showing up on your roof."

"Oh you're such a bitch, I told you that in confidence." Christian's head pops up beside his sister's. His brown hair is mildly disheveled in a way that makes him look more youthful; he's rubbing one eye. Now whenever you want to stab me in the heart you're going to stick your head out of my skylight and say--" Noticing Warren, Christian's expression metamorphoses into shock, then well hidden glee. "…hello Angel."

"Can we come inside, I'm missing a shoe." Worthington bemoans.

Christian looks to Emma. "Who is that?"

"Ethel Merman, I don't know." She throws her hands in the air and descends into the apartment again. "I'll put the tea on," she calls. "See if you can't coax them inside."

Christian smiles pleasantly up at Warren. "I'm afraid I fell asleep in my clothes, so, you won't get the pleasure of seeing me in my bathrobe tonight."

Warren shrugs. "That's ok, I forgot to get soaking wet and take my shirt off on the way over."

"I'll forgive you that."

Worthington looks around confusedly. "Warren, what's going on? Who is that person?"

"May we come in?" Warren asks, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. He's still not used to the idea of imposing. He tells himself that's why he's nervous.

"My house is always open to you, Angel. You know that." Christian moves down out of skylight, allowing the winged mutant entrance. "But next time, leave the old man at home."