A/N: Hey, thanks for reading. And thanks to those of you who reviewed. :) Here's chapter one, sooner than I had expected. A brief aside -- I changed the college from Columbia University to a fictional Sydney Williams University. Just because I don't want to write about a real-life college and say inaccurate things about it. I decided it would be easier for me to just invent a new college so that I could give it everything it needed.

I think that's it for now... enjoy!

Chapter One: On My Own

June 14, 2006
Warren

I love the smell of spices. Basil, rosemary, sage. Even garlic cloves – did you know that when you grill a head of garlic, it becomes a thick, potent spread for bread? It's delicious. Strong, but delicious.

Or maybe I've just been watching the Food Network too much.

I picked up the remote, idly flipping through the channels. I'd thought that life couldn't possibly get more boring than the past two years at AllCott, but I'd been proven wrong. Moving into the penthouse at Worthington Tower, one of the high-rise apartment complexes my father owned, had seemed like the perfect solution to my living situation a few months back when he'd first breached the idea. I had refused to live in the dorms, not because I felt they were beneath me, but because all the hiding and sneaking around at AllCott had been exhausting. But my own apartment? Less than six blocks from campus, no less? Couldn't have asked for anything better.

At least that's what I'd thought until about a month into my current living situation. The penthouse I'd moved into was on the top floor, carefully secluded from the rest of the Tower. It provided me many things – peace, quiet, a perfect 'runway' for taking off and landing, for example – but it also served to prove how truly alone I was. I'd expected it to a point, as it was my first summer living on my own, but I hadn't realized just how much the small interactions I'd been forced to have at school filled the time. I'd grown used to the noises spilling from other students' rooms; laughing and shouting, blaring stereos, TVs turned up too loud. I'd learned exactly how much conversation was required during classes in order to get by. But here? Didn't have to worry about any of that. I felt even more secluded and alienated than I had in high school, if that were even possible.

Yawning, I turned the flatscreen on the wall back to Rachael Ray's Tasty Travels. Cooking had become a hobby of sorts for me – since I was 'blessed' with more free time than I could handle, it was no big deal to spend a few hours in the kitchen every night, slicing and dicing and sautéing things. Plus, I liked Rachael Ray; she was cute, perky, and always had something interesting on her plate. The feature of the day was vegetarian sushi, which sounded promising. I'd given up meat not long after my mutation – perhaps it was because I'd become part avian myself, but even the thought of eating chicken or turkey made my stomach feel a little queasy. It was just easier, I decided, to forego meat altogether, regardless of species. Show a little compassion to my… 'brethren', for lack of a better word.

Wandering into the kitchen, I scrounged around the cabinets and refrigerator, collecting the required vegetables, pasta, soy sauce, and vinegar. As I grabbed a large sauce pan from the cast-iron hooks hanging over the center island, my eyes fell on the clock. 6:14. I sighed, filling the pot with water and setting it on the stove to boil. Another fine, aimless day; half gone by.

xxxxx

Summers, for me, are the worst time of the year. When I was younger, I lived for the months of June, July, and August, just like most kids. My parents kept a condominium in down in St. Augustine, and the vast majority of our summertime was spent relaxing down there. I was never much for lying around and getting a tan like my parents, but I did love the beach. As a child, I built sand castles and captured crabs and clams; as I got older, I learned to surf and flirt. In early high school, I'd brought Jakob and Cameron with me on vacation a few times, and we'd spent the days trolling the shoreline, looking for cute girls to play volleyball with us.

But those days were gone, and now, summer generally meant two things – one, that I had to wrap my wings down even tighter, in order to wear thinner summertime clothing, and two, that I would just have to deal with being really fucking hot until autumn came. Feathers, I'd discovered, made a nice insulation. In the wintertime, it was helpful. Summer, not so much. Especially when it's somehow 80 degrees and humid even when the sun goes down.

I sighed loudly, trying not to think about how sweaty my back was and ignoring the idle glances of the few patrons around me who had heard. The supermarket was never crowded on Wednesday evenings, so I had chosen that specific time to go every week. I slowly pushed my cart through the aisles, taking plenty of time to survey the shelves. Actually, I didn't mind grocery shopping – in fact, found it sort of fun. When I'd moved into my apartment, my parents had assumed I would want the same kind of hired help that they themselves kept. But I'd turned down the offer of a maid, telling them I was perfectly capable of keeping the place clean and stocked with food myself. The last thing I needed was some nosy woman wondering why there were always stray feathers lying around the apartment.

I turned the corner with my cart, ambling down the soda aisle. I stopped in front of the Coke section, indecisive. Moments later, I heard the footsteps of someone approaching and doing the same.

"Can you tell the difference?" asked a female voice. I turned, finding myself standing next to a petite redhead. Pale, flawless skin, gorgeous body. She had her arms folded, staring at the endless line of two-liter bottles.

"Excuse me?" I said politely.

"The difference. Between Coke and Pepsi. Honestly, I can't tell, and I wondered if it was just me." She shrugged. "And why do we need fourteen different versions of Coke, anyway? Lime, lemon, vanilla, cherry, black cherry?" Her gaze slid from the bottles to me, and she smiled broadly.

She's flirting with me, I realized. The knowledge was something of a shock – once I'd effectively become the 'weird' hermit kid at AllCott, I'd not had to worry about attention from females. I guess even money and decent good looks can't make up for a misanthropic personality.

In another lifetime, I would have flirted right back, sidled up to her, asked for her number. Maybe even gotten a little action that night. Instead, I just shrugged. "I dunno."

She wasn't put off. "Maybe it's got some sort of psychological meaning to it," she said lightly. "Like, I don't know, the flavor you choose says something of your personality. Maybe those who like vanilla are naturally sweet, and those who like lemon are grouches." I nodded, not necessarily because I agreed, but because I didn't want to add anything to the conversation. "What kind do you like?"

"Regular," I answered.

"Ah, Classic Coke." She nodded her approval, long red locks bobbing with her movements. She had green eyes, I noticed. I loved girls with green eyes… Candy's had been a dark, muted green, almost olive-colored. "Always a good choice. Maybe it shows you have taste and class."

"Yeah, maybe." I walked over and picked out two of the large bottles, throwing them into my cart.

When she noticed I was preparing to move on, she stepped closer. "So…" she said, her voice turning softer. "I'm Kim. What's your name?"

I turned, reluctantly accepting her outstretched hand for a shake. I was ready to leave, and soon. The wings suddenly felt oppressive; twitchy, yearning to be unshackled and free. "Warren."

"Where do you live, Warren? Are you in school?" She cocked her head to the side, those green eyes sparkling. Her lips were tinged a coppery color from whatever lipstick she was wearing, and I fantasized for a brief moment what it would be like to kiss her. "I start SWU this fall. You're looking at the next beat reporter for the New York Times!" she concluded with a light laugh.

"I live close by, in an apartment," I said, intentionally staying vague. "And yeah, I'll be going to school in the fall. But-" I immediately cut her off before she could interject to ask where. "-but I really should be going now. I'm late as it is…" I made a big show of checking my watch, grandly pretending for a moment that I did have plans. With a curt nod goodbye, I turned and left her standing in the soda aisle, miffed and frustrated.

I let out another good sigh as I made my way to the self-checkout counter. You're not the only frustrated one, Kim, I thought. It was looking to be a long summer, indeed.

xxxxx

June 17, 2006

"Warren, honey…" I'd always wondered where my mother's affinity for pet names came from – the sweet little monikers she gave to my father and I seemed much more appropriate for an aging southern belle than for a sharp-minded Yankee businesswoman. She was sitting opposite me on the couch, slowly draining her second cup of Gevalia Light Roast. I met her gaze unwaveringly. "Your father and I are worried about you."

I kept my expression passive, as if considering that statement. I already knew where this conversation was going. Ever since graduation and the move, my mother had visited me no less than once a week for dinner, occasionally bringing my father along if he was free. AllCott had been far outside the city, a tough drive that my parents made only for special occasions. Worthington Tower, however, was a mere 15-minute ride from her and my father's own townhouse, and I found myself increasingly under her scrutiny. The half-truths and reassurances I'd given her at school wouldn't fly here, not when she could see for herself that I really was a homebody and a loner.

"Why?" I asked, my tone casual.

She lifted her mug of coffee to her lips before replying, a typical Katherine Worthington maneuver. She always used that dramatic pause right before telling me something I didn't particularly want to hear.

"I saw Mrs. Bennett today, when I was at the salon," she said. I felt my brows shoot up. Mrs. Bennett was the well-meaning school counselor who had attempted to get to the 'root' of my supposed behavioral problems. I'd spent most of our sessions together staring at the wall behind her head and counting the cracks in the paint.

"Yeah?" I said, leaning back against the couch cushion, feigning interest. "How's she doing?"

"She's fine." She took another sip. "Actually, she asked me how you were doing."

"Aah," I replied, nodding. I attempted to make light of it. "Plenty busy, as you can see…"

She ignored me, setting the mug aside. She looked tired, I thought. A little more worn than usual. Her graying hair was pulled back away from her face, and she hadn't put on makeup just to come see me.

"Warren…" her voice grew quiet. "She suggested… well, I know we've talked about this before, she still thinks you should see a doctor. A psychologist…"

I silently groaned. I'd seen plenty of therapists while at AllCott, but had managed to avoid the d-word because without my parents' consent, the school couldn't force me to go. And I'd always managed to skirt the issue with them. "A doctor."

"Yes… She even recommended one, his name is Dr. Leary, and apparently he's one of the best…"

"No," I answered immediately. Probably too immediately. But I'd long ago worked out the issues at stake – a doctor of any sort would require a physical exam be done before anything else. And that simply could not happen. I stood up, walking away from the couch, and looked out the glass windows that led to the balcony. I stared longingly at the sky; the sun had long since set, the stars were out, and I was more than ready to fly. "I'm fine. I don't need some quack to tell me I'm just an introvert."

"Warren, you can't fool us any longer. You didn't used to be such an introvert, that's the issue…" I heard a rustling, and moments later, she joined me at the window. "And I can't believe we took your word for it in the first place, all those times before when you said you were fine… that's my fault, I should have pressed you harder…" She sighed, placing her hand on my shoulder. I automatically flinched – she was dangerously close to the base of my left wing. "Honey, it's okay. It's okay to admit you need help."

"But I don't," I said, anger tinting my voice. I didn't mean to snap at her, but the jerk reflex had become something of an automatic response. I'd discovered it was the easiest way to get people to back down. "So, I like my privacy. That's all, okay? Everyone makes such a big deal about it…" I stalked back to the couch and sat down, aware of how childish I was sounding. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine."

She remained by the window, standing tall and regal. She looked right at home and completely at ease in this living room, which was no surprise since she'd been the one to decorate it. From the dark cherry coffee table, to the accent floor lamps in the corner, to the Renaissance paintings on the wall, the apartment practically screamed of Katherine Worthington. Maybe that was why she felt the need to visit it so often…

I watched as she sucked in her breath, ready to fire off another rebuttal. My mother had a law degree and had been on the debate team in college, so her inner barrister frequently made an appearance when she wanted something done her way.

To my surprise, she didn't bother, instead deflating and giving a helpless shrug of her shoulders. Apparently she wasn't in a mood to fight tonight. "Well," she said quietly. "If you ever do want to talk about it, honey, I'm here."

There was a huge part of me that wanted to. A part that wanted to lift the shirt and tear off the bandages, showing her exactly why I needed the privacy. I'd tell her about the night they grew in, how I'd cried from the physical and mental pain. About how I hated hiding everything from her and Dad and all my friends; how I hated strapping them down and being hot. I'd tell her about the loneliness…

And, strangely, about how I also now felt I couldn't live without them.

Instead, I just nodded, knowing that wouldn't happen. "I know, Mom," I said, matching her soft tone. "I know."

xxxxx

Nighttime in New York is not really nighttime – the place is so brightly lit that I'm fairly sure it must glitter from space. At least it does from a mile up in the air…

My mother had stayed a little longer after her small confrontation, stating that she hadn't meant to get me upset, but that she was simply concerned about me. I couldn't say I didn't understand her anxiety. That's what mothers are for, after all – worrying. And though I was off the hook for the time being, I knew that from here on out the topic was going to come up again and again… and eventually, something would have to give.

Nevertheless, we'd had a relatively pleasant evening after that. I'd listened as she idly chatted about what was going on in her life – their recent decision to remodel the kitchen, her and my father's upcoming trip to Japan, the monthly book club she'd joined. Around eleven o'clock, she'd finally called their driver to come pick her up, declaring that it was far past her bedtime. "I love you, honey," she'd said before heading out the door, kissing my cheek. I'd replied that I loved her, too, and had immediately gone to the window, watching carefully to see that she got into the town car that was taking her home.

Then, within minutes of her departure, I'd rushed to my bedroom, ripped off the bandages, put on my 'flying' clothes, and leaped over the railing of the balcony. Free once again, for a time.

I held out my arms perpendicular to my body and closed my eyes, enjoying the rush of wind against my face. I'd bought a snug, stretchy hat to wear while flying some months back, since it was the only thing I could think of to keep the hair completely off my face and the tight fit ensured that it wouldn't come off. The evening had actually cooled down a bit for once, and instead of flying shirtless as I usually did in the summer, I'd chosen a tight-fitting Under Armour tee, which I'd modified in the back with wing openings and a zipper. Learning to sew had been a pain in the ass (not to mention a little embarrassing, though obviously no one knew about it), but it had been worth it. Though I'd grown to dislike wearing shirts at all at home or while flying, there were times when I had no choice.

I breathed deeply, thankful that the air this high didn't have the scent of car exhaust. These excursions were by far the highlight of every day – roaming in the sky above the city, far above the bustling of the streets below. I was high enough to remain largely unseen; just a barely-there speck in the heavens if anyone cared to look.

Although thanks to another odd side effect of my mutation (at least that was my hypothesis), I could still see the minute details of each and every person strolling the sidewalks, like their hair color or the writing on their t-shirts. I could tell the make and model of every car on the street; I could see each traffic light and tell whether it was glowing red, amber, or green. All I had to do was look down, concentrate for a moment, and the world became precise and crystal-clear. Proof that I was meant to fly, I assumed. 'Eyes like a hawk', indeed.

I folded my wings back and opened my eyes. Lowering my arms, I tilted my head down and allowed my body to fall into a dive, gathering speed as I rocketed towards the ground. Seconds later, I straightened up and thrust my wings out so that I was flying straight again. I felt the familiar tickle in my stomach as all my momentum was redirected, the same sort of sensation I used to get when Cameron and I rode the Vortex down at the Pavilion by the beach.

My thoughts were jumbled as I arced around, heading towards SWU. Classes didn't begin until mid-August, which meant I had two months to kill in the meantime. If my mother's conversation tonight was any indication, then this summer wouldn't slide by as easily as I hoped it would. I didn't even want to think about what would happen if she ever managed to get me in a doctor's office. What would they do? Send me away? Disown me? Or worse – and this was a notion that had occurred to me many late nights while thinking too much in bed – what if they wanted to amputate? I was no medical professional, but if surgeons could successfully remove people's arms and legs, what would stop them from removing a set of eight-foot wings?

And as much as I despised the wings sometimes, I didn't want them removed. It was an interesting love/hate relationship, and something I couldn't fully understand. All I knew for certain was that I was not interested in having any part of my body hacked off with a surgical saw…

I shook my head, clearing out those dark thoughts. I could see campus close ahead. Maple trees lined the walkways, forming an interesting zig-zag pattern noticeable from the air. The buildings were all constructed of the same aged brick, with white concrete facades on the front declaring their name and purpose. I flew closer, intending to search out the places I knew I'd be frequenting come fall – Walter Doran Memorial Library, the College of Business, and Ginger Hall.

Instead, my eyes focused on a bright orange light coming from the westernmost edge of campus, where the dormitories were. I let out a gasp when I realized what it was – flames. One of the dorms, a tower that appeared to be about twenty floors high, was on fire.

I flew closer, fascinated. It looked like it had been burning for some while; the air around was thick and reeked of acrid smoke, and down on the ground there was a sea of police cars and fire trucks. People were milling about, hugging and holding each other while staring up at the flames and smoke that billowed from the tower. The firefighters below were spraying the building with thick jets of water from all sides, but from what I could tell, it didn't seem to be doing much good.

I landed on the roof of another dorm nearby, resting as I watched the melee unfold. In a way, the sight was beautiful – the thick orange light dancing and flickering from the windows; undulating in a mesmerizing pattern. Occasionally a loud crack could be heard, the sound of some internal support breaking, and the flames would briefly intensify with a thunderous woosh. I shook my head, watching as the fire climbed higher up the tower. That building's a goner… might as well let it burn, then raise it and start from scratch…

I watched for several minutes more before turning to leave. The wind was blowing in my direction, and I could see a faint layer of soot on my arms from the smoke. I'd never be able to get that smell out of these clothes…

I had just taken the first quick step of my take-off when I heard something, faint and tinny.

I stopped abruptly, listening. And heard it again. "HELP! HELP ME, PLEASE, HELP…" A woman, screaming at the top of her lungs, obviously terrified. I raced over to the rooftop edge closest to the dorm, my eyes searching every window. And then I saw her – a few floors above the topmost flame was a young woman, with her head sticking out of the window. She was screaming down at the rescue teams below, but I knew it was futile – she was too far up, there was no way they could hear over the din. I knew the dorms were sparsely populated during the summer anyway, and they might have already assumed that the building was completely evacuated.

She's going to die, I suddenly thought. It would take maybe fifteen minutes for the fire to climb to her level… and that was if she didn't choke from smoke inhalation first…

I stared as she screamed for several minutes more. Then, her figure disappeared back into the room, and I wondered if she had just given up. What a horrible way to go…

I don't know why I did it. Maybe it was a by-product of my heightened emotional state; the toll of being alone, turning down that beautiful girl in the grocery earlier in the week, dealing with my mother's well-intentioned intervention. Maybe it was the need to feel like I was doing something right. I took no time to think, no time to plan; I was just struck with the recognition that if that girl was going to live, it was going to have to be via me. In one swift movement, I catapulted myself over the rooftop railing and back into the air. I swept upwards towards the tower, eyes locked on that one window. I ignored the heat and smoke, focused only on my goal.

The window was raised all the way, and luckily it was just wide enough for me to squeeze through. When I reached the sill, I folded my wings back and crawled inside, coughing loudly when an updraft carried fluttering bits of ash into my face. I squinted, struggling to see – I hadn't expected this room to be filled with smoke yet, but there was already a thick layer floating heavily, like smog. I squatted low to the floor, casting a glance back and forth.

It was a typical dorm room, small and crowded – a set of bunked beds over in the corner, two desks with computers against the wall, two closets by the door. There was a small TV stand stacked with electronic equipment and a bean bag chair in front of it. There was a pile of clothes thrown on top of the bed, posters all over the wall, and picture frames on every flat surface.

And huddled in the corner, with her knees drawn up and her face in her hands, was the girl I'd come for.

She was rocking back and forth, sobbing quietly. I crawled towards her, unsure what to say. What am I doing? She's going to see me, recognize me some day on campus, tell someone… Grabbing my hat, I pulled the hem down as low over my eyes as I could. I glanced down at my arms, again noting the blackish tint to them from the soot. I only hoped my face was equally as covered.

"Hey," I said uncertainly. "Miss…?"

Her head jerked up and I withdrew, ashamed, as her eyes grew wide with horror. I could only imagined what I looked like – dressed all in black, with a dirty face and two gigantic wings half-folded to either side. With tears making small rivers down her sooty face, she screamed.

"No, no—" I stuttered. "I-I can help you. Come on, I'll get you out of here…"

"Who are you?" she said, her voice wavering uncontrollably. "What are you?"

"I came to help you," I repeated. "C'mon, we have to hurry…"

"They have ladders, the firemen…" she said. "They'll come for me…" I inwardly sighed. I supposed I could understand her fear and trepidation towards trusting a mysterious creature that had appeared from nowhere, but I was a little insulted that I'd essentially risked my life only to be shunned.

You think they're coming for you? Is that why you're crying in the corner? I tilted my head towards the window. "They can't hear you down there," I said. "We're too high. And this place is either gonna collapse or implode any minute." I extended my hand to her. "So if you want to make it out alive, you're gonna have to trust me."

She opened her mouth to reply, when the building suddenly shook with a giant tremor – another support breaking, I could only assume. She let out a strangled cry instead and grabbed my outstretched hand. Well, at least it seemed now she would rather be saved by a mutant than die a fiery death, and I figured that had to count for something.

Wordlessly, I took us both to the window. As I looked outside, trying to figure out the easiest way to get us both through, I realized I hadn't considered how I was going to carry her – threshold-style, in my arms, or in an embrace? Shit, could I even carry her? She wasn't a large girl by any means, but adding a hundred-plus pounds to my weight was certainly a significant difference…

God, I should have thought all this through.

I took a deep breath, gently putting my hand on her back, feeling the warmth underneath her thin nightshirt. Her entire body was trembling. She responded by uneasily putting an arm around my neck, and I took that as I sign that I'd be carrying her in my arms. I scooped her up, and with some clumsy difficulty, managed to climb back onto the windowsill. She eyed me suspiciously as I misjudged the height of our escape route, banging my head against the bottom of the window opening. I suppressed a curse and attempted to act professional – as if I'd actually done this before.

She doesn't feel heavy at all, strange… I thought. And actually, it feels sort of nice… I hadn't been this close, hadn't touched anyone so much in years. My tryst with Candy had been the last time I'd had my arms around a woman other than my mother. I swallowed, wondering if it was wrong that I was enjoying the feel of her body against mine.

"I don't like heights," she said suddenly.

"It's okay. Just hold on," I said quietly, and she tightened her hold on my neck a little. Then, with a strong push from my legs, we dove out into the open air.

She let out another cry, hiding her face in my neck. I couldn't help but smile as I glided downward, away from the crowds. A few minutes later, I landed on the ground behind the library in a run, my bare feet chilled by the dewy grass. I stopped, and with some reluctance, set her down.

I wasn't sure what to say. "There," I whispered. "See?"

She took a few shaky steps back, fully appraising my entire appearance – standing up, wings fully extended. I could still see the fright in her eyes, the uncertainty about what sort of creature she'd just trusted her life with, but there was another sentiment mixed with that fear: gratitude. I felt a sudden swelling of pride, another emotion I'd not felt in a long time.

"Is this for real?" she asked softly, raking a hand through her blackened blonde hair. "Are you – are you an angel?"

I almost snorted – an angel? Winged, true; but pure, kind and selfless I was not. "No," I said simply. "I'm not."

"Who are you?"

I didn't reply – I could hear voices approaching, people calling out what I assumed was her name – 'Jenny, Jenny!' and I realized that we must have been seen at some point on the ride down. Glancing back at her, I shook my head. Mission accomplished. Time to go.

"It doesn't matter," I said. With that, I turned, taking off in a run, and joined the air once again.

But not before I heard her last two words, a statement that somehow made me feel useful and whole. "Thank you…"

As I headed back to the penthouse, my head was reeling from the events that had just transpired. I'd just saved someone's life… and it felt damn good. I suddenly realized what I would be doing to fill my spare time from here on out.

Maybe my life had a deeper purpose, after all…