Chapter Two, and my first written chapter. Reviews would be fantastic.

Gloved Love

Marie sighed, as she took another sip of milk.

She was in the kitchen, eating the left over chocolate chips cookies that the kids had baked earlier. Her mind was a wreck, destroyed by her inner most thoughts that she kept locked up, in order to not screw her life over worse then it already was. She was in love with her best friend. He was the only person she had, the only person that truly loved her and cared about her well being, at least, since Bobby cheated on her with Kitty and Storm disappeared mysteriously.

Warren Worthington the Third was the most amazing man she'd ever met. But he was in love with somebody else. Peter Rasputin, an older, more attractive male member of the X-Men. Marie had dropped out after her issues with Bobby interfered with her practicing. Now all she had was Warren.

As much as she wanted to tell him, get her biggest secret off her chest so that maybe he could love her back, she was more afraid of losing him. Scaring him away and losing the only thing real in her life. Warren was the only true thing that existed to her, and the truth was that she was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.

So as she sat, eating her cookies and milk, it didn't even register to her that it was raining. But a loud crack of thunder snapped her back to reality and sent her problematic thoughts away for the moment. She quietly crept to the large stain glass window in the kitchen and absently looked upon the rainy night.

As she scanned the back yard for any sign of interest, she spotted a person. It didn't take her long to register that it was Warren, standing still in the freezing cold down pour. And it took her an even shorter amount of time to forget her late night snack and hurriedly run outside and towards the statue of an Angel standing alone.

As she got closer, she began to run faster. As her eyes laid upon his body, her fists began to clench, her eyes began to water.

He was destroyed from head to toe. His clothes were ripped, burned off from the look of them, his body was bleeding, with bruises and burn marks every place no cut laid. His wings were featherless in some places, or just shredded in others. She slowly came around to the front of him, and her heavy eyes met with his.

"Warren…" she faltered, staring heartbroken at his face, the face of an angel, which was now scared with the hatred of jealous, ignorant fools. Warren only starred at her for a second longer, before collapsing, into her arms.

Marie got a better grip on him, conjuring all of her strength to carry him back inside into a dryer, safer place. She was suddenly happy that her room was on the first floor. She dragged him inside and laid him down on the bed. She quickly returned to the hall to get a first aid kit from the hall closet and went back into her room, being quick to shut and lock the door.

She went back to him, pulling up a chair beside her bed, and began to tend to his wounds. She ran her bare fingers over his chest, following with a cloth in the other hand. She cleared his chest, arms and face of all bloody, sweat and dirt and then undecidedly looked towards his legs and crotch area.

She decided she'd clean the fraction of his legs no longer covered by his jeans, and leave the matter of cleaning what lay just below the waist until later. Before she could get the chance to make the decision though, Warren stirred and his lids slowly opened.

"Welcome back," she whispered, grabbing his hand comfortingly. He looked down at his body and around her room, and then inquiry at her. Marie decided to speak, "I found you in the rain. Warren, I need you to tell me what happened." Warren didn't say anything; he just turned his head in the other direction. "Honey," she said, using a word he'd think no more of then a sign of motherly care, "I need you to tell me who did this to you."

Warren remained silent, but met eyes with her. Marie saw the depressing sense of pain that lay in their depth. She knew at once that Peter had played a part. She'd decided John must have helped, after seeing the burns on his body, and that probably meant Bobby too.

"Is that it?" she asked in a whisper, "Just the three of them?" Warren just blinked, but she, knowing him better then any, knew that his actions meant yes. She missed his voice. But he hadn't spoken a word since a couple months ago, when he grew this infatuation with Peter, and his father fell ill and died. "How much did he do?" She asked, knowing Warren would understand her question.

Warren widened his eyes for a second. "Just some at the end, then," Marie observed, "Well maybe he has some sense of compassion after all."

Warren tightened his lips. Marie nodded, "Of course I'm gonna say something. They're mindless imbeciles and they deserve to be handed right over to the government as test subjects for what they did to you."

Warren opened his mouth slightly. "Fine," Marie sighed, "Not Peter. But the other two do." Warren breathed slowly out of his nose. Marie packed the first aid kit back up and returned it to its regular place in the closet. "Maybe you should shower, Warren. Nobody's up now, and I couldn't get everything off with just a hot cloth. Go on. I'll stand in front of the men's room, it's just down the hall, I can go pick up fresh clothes from your room and you can sleep here tonight." He nodded and silently walked to the bathroom. Marie quickly retrieved his clothing for sleeping, but froze when her eyes laid upon something sitting at the bottom of his top drawer.