A/N: First off, thank you all for continuing to read this story. I apologize for a lull in updates, and I know some of you might be wondering what's up. I don't want to go into detail (and I'm not looking for pity), but for those of you who saw the news about Flight 5191 that crashed in Kentucky, that happened in my city. And I knew four people on board -- I worked with them. So it's been a very rough couple of weeks for me. I only started writing again this past weekend, and I actually think it's helped. It's kind of soothing. So, again, I'm not asking for your pity or apologies, I'm really just asking for your patience. I am hoping to get back into the swing of regular writing now that things have calmed down a bit. And for anyone that I've accidentally ignored, I'm sorry -- I need to check my reviews/email to see if I've missed anyone.

Okay, enough of that. This is a fairly long chapter, and not my favorite to write (which you'll probably understand by the end), but the next chapter I am looking very much forward to writing, so that's good. :) And this chapter kind of takes a cue from the X-Men: Evolution cartoon (kind of). If you've seen the episode where Angel is introduced you'll understand. As I said before, there are elements of the comics/movies/cartoon all sort of mixed together in this fic.

On a random side note, doesn't that show Heroes that's coming out look like a total X-Men rip-off? Jeez. They even have a dude who teleports and a girl who can't be physically harmed. I'll probably watch it out of curiosity, but I'm a little miffed all the same.

Anyway, again, thanks. Looking forward to getting the next part up for you all. :)

Chapter Seven: Alone

November 21, 2006
Warren

I used to love Thanksgiving. It was higher on my list of favorite holidays than Christmas, as a matter of fact. Christmastime was hectic; frenzied. In addition to the traditional last-minute scrambling to buy gifts, it always meant long dinners and get-togethers with my mother's catty extended family or my dad's stiff, formal brothers. I didn't like either set of relatives, as they both had a tendency to suck the fun and good spirit out of every possible situation. My mother's aunts and cousins were gossips, systematically taking down every person in our upper-class social circle and dissecting them bit by bit. My paternal uncles were just plain boring – discussions of capital investments, bonds, and stocks never interested me, and never would.

Thanksgiving, however, was always a small family affair. Me, my mother, and my father, and no one else. And that's what I'd always loved about it – it was a weekend of fantastic food and spending some real one-on-one time with my parents, which was a difficult feat. Their busy lives meant that there were always meetings to attend to, clients to converse with, trade deals to be solidified. But they were adamant about never letting business interfere with the holidays, so every year on the third weekend in November, I could count on them both to be home and stay there.

Of course, Thanksgivings were a little different now. I still liked the chance to spend some time with my parents, but I had to stay on guard constantly, wearing just the right clothes and locking my bedroom door at night and when I changed… just in case. And when I'd first announced that I had decided to go vegetarian, their reaction had been total confusion. I couldn't blame them – it wasn't as if I'd developed new food allergies, or became a rampant animal-rights activist or anything of the ilk. I'd loved bacon, steak, fried chicken and oven-roasted turkey with dressing just as much as any other teenage boy. And my mother's first question, in fact, had been, "But what about my Thanksgiving turkey? Will you eat that?"

Turkey? Truthfully, turkey and chicken were the worst. I often thought that it shouldn't be that big of a deal to eat poultry. I'd eaten it all my life, why would it be any different now? Just because I had wings? They were just an extension of my human body, right? I was still about 80 man… at least, that's what I tried telling myself.

But every time I saw it on the plate – especially the Thanksgiving turkey, with its bare, plucked wings folded back – I felt sick to my stomach. It was an automatic response that I couldn't control. Just the thought of my body looking like that, bony and stripped down to the tender pink skin, was enough to send little shivers of revulsion right through me.

So I'd had to tell my mother that no, no I wouldn't eat the Thanksgiving turkey. She had been upset, to say the least, but there was nothing I could do about it. This would be the third year since my change, so I think it had finally started to settle into my parents' minds that I was serious. The last time I'd talked to her, she had mentioned some new dishes she was going to try for the holiday – and I'd discreetly noticed that none of them contained any meat.

I curled up in bed, tucking my legs in close and lazily stretching my wings behind me, being careful not to knock the glass of water off the nightstand. I'd been willing myself to get some sleep for several hours now. Tomorrow was Wednesday, and though we still had classes the day before Thanksgiving (a policy I vehemently disagreed with), I was skipping them all and heading over to my parents' place mid-day. And while I would get to sleep in a little in the morning, I still wanted to wake up early enough to pack, clean and get some errands done before leaving. I was supposed to drop off a book to Sera before lunch, return the DVDs I'd rented from Movie Palace, and pick up some new Office software for my computer.

Sera... I opened my eyes, staring into the darkness. I wasn't sure what to think of her anymore. Originally, I'd blown her off. From the outside, she appeared to be just another opinionated know-it-all. She was polite, of course, I'd always credited her that, but her age, the way she came across in class sometimes, and how she took charge during our group meetings had led me to dismiss her. But getting to know her personally, especially in these past few weeks, had softened my original views. She was older, but never used it as an excuse to have something done her way. She always spoke up in class with an opinion about something, but she was just naturally a talker, and always straightforward. And as for leading our group, well… I couldn't blame her. There was no way in hell I would let Jonathan tell me what to do and I knew he felt the same way towards me, so she'd fallen into the role de facto.

Plus, the fact that she didn't hate mutants was probably the biggest draw. When she'd described the mutant she'd met, the man with the claws, she hadn't been disgusted or horrified. Just wondrous. When she'd held up her own hands, making fists and pointing out where the claws had come from, she'd looked fascinated. Curious, maybe, as if imagining where the knives were housed when retracted and how they came out.

And, of course, she'd taken up for the Angel in particular. And as much as I hated to admit it, that had probably been the biggest element in my change of judgment. It was like a stroke of my ego; finally someone acknowledging all the work and I did and the risks I took while doing it. The newspapers and TV reported it, but they kept a mostly neutral stance, declining to either show their support or condemn me. Every once in a while, I would catch a piece of conversation about the Angel here and there while walking between classes, but it was usually just a fascination with the freak show. People (well, other than the victims themselves) didn't really appreciate what I was doing; they just liked having something to gossip about the next day.

I sighed and closed my eyes again, wondering why I couldn't seem to fall asleep. Rolling onto my stomach, I rested my head on my arms, breathing deeply. I'd had to learn other ways to sleep – before, I'd been strictly a back guy, usually sprawled out with limbs in all directions across the bed. Now, while lying on my back wasn't impossible, it was generally not very comfortable. I'd learned to sleep on my sides curled into a ball, or on my stomach. And I always slept with the wings free, hanging off the edge of the bed, even when I was home (hence the locked doors). I'd tried wrapping them up before going to bed once, and had awakened so cramped and sore the following morning that I hadn't been able to fly for days.

I suddenly smiled then, remembering Sera's sarcastic comment. 'He's got wings, for heaven's sake…. What, is he going to flap someone to death? Smother them with feathers?' Oh, if she only knew. I'd found the remark unusually funny for some reason, and it had taken every ounce of self-restraint not to snort.

Okay, enough. Stop thinking so much. I opened one eye, peering at the alarm clock across the room. 3:37AM. Sleep, my brain commanded. Just relax and get some sleep…

xxxxx

"Hey, Warren, how's it going?" Sera gave me one of her easygoing, crooked smiles and flipped her book closed. We were in the Student Center, our agreed-upon place to meet so I could give her the book. She was already there when I arrived, sitting on one of the marble ledges by the fountain with her legs neatly crossed. I caught a glimpse of the book she'd been reading – Everything is Illuminated.

I shifted from foot to foot as I dug around in my bag. "Oh, fine," I said. "How are you?"

"I'll be a lot better when this day is over. I've got a nine-hour drive with friends to West Virginia ahead of me after my last class. Should be fun." She tilted her head to the side. "What about you? Traveling anywhere for Thanksgiving?"

"No, my parents live across town. I'm going there next, actually." I pulled out the book – Analysis and Principles of Genetics – and held it out to her. I'd come across the book in the library, and while I hadn't gleaned anything useful from it, Sera had said she'd like to take a look for herself and skim through.

She grabbed the book from my hand and held it up, inspecting the cover. "Looks fascinating," she said dryly. "Like a good cure for insomnia."

I smiled in spite of myself. Good point – maybe that's what I should have done last night when I was having trouble sleeping. "Yeah," I said. "Pretty much."

"Well, thank you very much," she said, her eyes crinkling up in a smile. She was always so gracious when it came to even the littlest things, always prefacing a request with 'please' and never forgetting to say 'thank you'. I wasn't really used to that – New Yorkers tended to be blunt and clipped.

"You're welcome," I mumbled. I automatically looked away from her – I'd gotten so used to avoiding people's eyes, and she was one of those types who could stare directly at you without wavering. Just like my mother. "Okay. I'm gonna—"

"Hey, I'm getting ready to go eat lunch," she said, interrupting me. She stood up, tucking her books away and dusting off the front of her faded jeans. She pointed to a set of glass double doors to our left. The doors led to a covered walkway, which connected the Student Center to the food court. "You want to join me?"

"What? I—well, I don't, I don't know—" The question threw me, and for once, I found myself stuttering and unsure what to say. Normally when girls asked me out, I'd respond with a quick 'no' and brusqueness. But the thought struck me that this was different. One, Sera wasn't interested in me, her flirtations with Jonathan more than proved that. This wasn't a date request, it was just a casual offer thrown out; a request for companionship so she wouldn't have to eat lunch alone.

And two… I actually considered saying yes. Hell, I wanted to say yes…

Sera raised one eyebrow, chuckling. "It's okay, Warren," she said dryly. "I know you've got stuff to do. Just thought I'd ask." She slung one strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Hey, have a great Thanksgiving. I'll see you next Sunday night, right? Seven o'clock."

My face heated up, and I wondered why I felt so disheartened at declining her offer. She started to walk away, but I reached out and touched her arm without thinking. Startled at my own boldness, I hastily retracted it. What the hell am I doing? I felt my wings twitch slightly under their wrapping, a common occurrence whenever I was agitated.

She stopped and turned, giving me a questioning look. "Hey," I said softly. "I didn't mean—I'd like to, but I'm supposed to be over there by one, so…" I trailed off. "Thanks for asking," I finished lamely. God, what was my problem? Why was I acting like a big pussy? Get out, Worthington. Leave right now before you make yourself look even more stupid.

She smiled again, and nodded oddly, hitching her bag further up her shoulder. "I know. Not a big deal, Warren. No offense taken."

"Yeah." I looked down, scuffing one sneaker against the carpet. There was something white on the floor, fluttering gently with each movement of my shoe. I felt my eyes widen, and I quickly slid my foot over, covering it up. "Well, see you later," I said hurriedly. "You have a good Thanksgiving, too."

"I most certainly will." She strolled away then, giving me a quick wave as she went. I stood in the same spot and watched her leave, letting my eyes linger on the way her jeans hugged her curves; snug but not too tight. She had a nice body, Sera… kept it covered up most of the time, unlike her younger counterparts, but everything she wore fit her so well…

Why couldn't I just go to lunch with her? Just as friends? Nothing serious… there's nothing wrong with just talking to someone… what's the big deal?

I mentally slapped myself. Looking down again, I slowly moved my foot, staring at the crushed white feather lying on the carpet. This happened from time to time – older feathers were jarred loose and sometimes they slid out from under my shirt, or even the bottoms of my jeans. That one had probably come out when my wings were twitching.

That's the big deal, Worthington. That, in case you've forgotten, is the reason you can't go to lunch with her. Sighing heavily, I bent down and picked it up, sliding it into my coat pocket. Right. I'd kept people at a distance for so long that I'd nearly forgotten how nice it was to do normal things… simple, everyday events, like going have a quick lunch with a classmate. But I couldn't let her, or anyone, for that matter, get too close. One lunch might not be such a big deal, but it could lead to others, which would lead to others… it would get too easy to let down my guard. I'd probably done it too much already…

I turned and headed for the door, walking past the indoor fountain and the glass windows of the campus bookstore. And since it was obviously beginning to become a problem, I really, really needed to get my libido under control. Sera wasn't the only girl I'd ogled today (though the fact that I'd done it to her bothered me the most). My sex life, obviously, was non-existent and had been for years. Whether it was because I was deprived more (a hell of a lot more) than most, or whether it was just the fact that I was normal, young horny male, it took very little to pique my interest, as it were. Which presented a problem – this campus was chock-full of pretty little things. It wasn't that I wished that I could fuck them all – I'd slept with a couple of girls, sure, but all of them had been serious girlfriends, and it was never something I'd taken too lightly. But it would just be nice to be able to touch someone like that again, to be close and undressed and pressed up closely against a woman's bare body… and to experience that heady rush and release…

I flung the doors of the Student Center open, grateful for the bitterly cold wind. Thinking about my sexual frustrations only served to make them worse, and I needed something to cool off my flushed skin. I wanted so badly to hit the air – flying always seemed to calm me down, no matter how bothered I was – but it was unfeasible at the moment. My parents were expecting me shortly, as I'd told Sera… and it was daytime anyway, and thus too risky even for a quick jaunt into the sky.

I sighed. Getting away from it all for a few days probably would do me a lot of good. Pulling my keys from the front pocket of my coat, I set down the sidewalk, heading for my car.

xxxxx

November 26, 2006

"It was so good to see you, honey," my mother said, pulling me into a hug. I tried not to jump as I returned the embrace, praying that she wouldn't press too hard and feel the unusual, soft curve of my back. I kissed her cheek before withdrawing.

"Yeah," I said. "I had a good time this weekend." And for once, I meant that. I'd needed some time away from my 'normal' life – I'd spent the past few days relaxing, lounging around my parents' condominium, stuffing my face full of delicious food, and actually conversing with my parents. I hadn't flown in all that time, but rather than getting twitchy and agitated, I'd felt something like relief. It was a respite from playing the roles of top student, loner, superhero.

"You should come over more often," my father added in. He set down the scotch he'd been holding, strolling over to give me his version of an embrace – a manly half-hug and light pat on the back.

"Yeah, I know," I murmured. "I could use a little of Mom's cooking more often. I get tired of doing it myself." I smiled at her, and she beamed happily, brushing stray, graying wisps of hair out of her face.

"Good," she declared. "But I swear, Warren, I've never seen anyone eat so much in my life… where do you put it?" She reached over and attempted to pinch my side, and I yelped, hopping back. "Look at you! You're skin and bones!"

"I am not skin and bones," I said indignantly. "I work out a lot. Lift weights, too." I lifted my arms and pretended to flex. Yeah, that was another unusual characteristic of my body, albeit one I never complained about – the face that it was very easy for me to stay in excellent shape. My father had even commented on it – nowadays, he had the standard businessman's body, stout and soft but not too overweight. He'd been fit when he was younger, from how he talked and the pictures I'd seen, but he even said that I'd far surpassed him on that scale.

Mom pursed her lips, fighting off a grin. "Yes, I see. All grown up, big and strong…" She took on a wistful tone, and I felt an odd tug at my heart, remembering that on my sixteenth birthday she'd sounded similarly pensive.

I cleared my throat, bouncing glances back and forth between the two of them. "Well, I should go," I said. "I'm supposed to meet with Sera tonight…"

Mom raised an eyebrow. "Sera?" she piped up, slyly giving my father a knowing, sidelong glance. "You've talked about this 'Sera' an awful lot this weekend…"

To my horror, I felt my face flush. What the fuck was my problem? "What?" I said defensively. "I told you, I see her a lot because of this project… she's a nice girl, but not my type. And very much taken, Mom," I added for emphasis. "You always make mountains out of molehills…"

She gave me a winning smile, the crow's feet wrinkling up around her eyes. That was another thing I admired about my mother – she was allowing herself to age gracefully. No plastic surgery, Botox injections, or bizarre skin creams for her – instead, she welcomed her wrinkles, especially her laugh lines, often telling me that she considered them representations of a life well-lived. She looked exactly like she should – a graceful, sophisticated 47-year old woman.

"Okay," she said in that I-didn't-believe-a-single-word-out-of-your-mouth tone. "If you say so, Warren." She barely held back another mischievous grin. My mother always had way too much fun whenever it came to me and girls. With Candy, she'd teased me incessantly about our 'puppy love' and all the silly things I'd said and done during that time… of course, this was different because I really had loved Candy, and Sera was just a girl that I had to see in class all the time, but still...

I briefly thought about the way I'd checked out Sera's ass the other day and cringed. Well, maybe she had a point.

God, I really needed to get laid.

"So, anyway…" I cleared my throat. "Again, I need to go… not just because of the meeting tonight. I've got a lot to do in the next two weeks…"

Mom reached up, affectionately pushing a lock of hair behind my ear. It was a familiar, comforting gesture, something she used to do to me as a child when my curls were mussed from running amok outside. "I know, honey," she murmured. "But take it easy, okay? You looked so stressed when you came… I don't want you to overtax yourself. Good grades are important, but they're not the end-all and be-all. Take care of yourself…"

I smiled thinly. If only the stress was only from grades… that would be kind of nice, actually… "Yeah, I know, I work too hard," I mumbled. I glanced over to my father, who had listened quietly to my mother's plea for me to take it easy. "I get that from Dad, I guess… worrying about everything being just right. The Worthington Perfectionist gene, maybe…"

Dad actually smiled at that. "True," he agreed amiably. "But even us perfectionists need a break." He came over and leaned against the bar, picking his scotch up and taking a quick sip. "You know, your mother and I are planning a trip to Florida this spring… you should come with us, Warren. I realize hanging out with your parents isn't the 'cool' thing to do anymore…" he paused, giving me a knowing smile. "…but it would be nice to relax and spend some time together as a family." He shrugged casually, as if to let me know there was no pressure there.

"Yeah, that would be nice…" I agreed quietly. And I meant it – it truly would – but I knew it would never happen. Going to the beach nowadays was out of the question, obviously, as the dress code was now out of my league, and thick, heavy shirts out in the humid Florida sun would raise just as much suspicion. I met my father's eyes, noticing the sincerity there. I nodded slowly, lost in thought. "It really would."

xxxxx

Christmas lights are truly obnoxious. There are some people in this world who know how to use them tastefully, but those are few and far between. I wrinkled my nose as I glided past an old, run-down apartment building lined with multi-colored flashing lights. It wasn't just that I thought all the lights were tacky and an eyesore – their frenetic pulsing also made it a little hard to see. Kind of difficult to focus on something far below on the street when there's a giant blinking set of reindeer in your line of vision…

Aggravated, I swept around the side of the building, easing up when I reached a patch of darkness. I slowed my pace, flapping my wings with several long, mighty strokes to put on the brakes, and landed gently on the rusty old fire escape. I cast a furtive glance in the window behind me – the insides were empty; apparently no one lived there. Good. Relaxing a bit, I allowed myself a moment to catch my breath.

I crouched down on the railing, resting. It was getting late – I'd met with Sera earlier in the evening, and although I probably should have gone on to bed and called it a night, I knew I needed to get out and fly.

Down below, there was a smattering of people walking the streets; couples holding hands, families with children, the occasional loners here and there. I noticed an older couple strolling arm-in-arm and immediately thought of my parents, still happy and content in their marriage after twenty-five years. They'd met in college. In, of all things, an elective tennis class. My mother had claimed that Dad pursued her relentlessly all semester, doggedly refusing to give up after repeated being told 'no'. She'd eventually given in, and, as they say, the rest is history… they'd married shortly after graduating, entered the family business together, and had me seven years later.

I exhaled loudly. Everything had gone so well for them… naturally, life was never perfect, there were occasional fights and spats, but overall, things had been great for the Worthington clan. Well, right up until I'd sprouted two extra appendages – at that moment, I'd become the only true, unavoidable 'flaw' in their world, though obviously they weren't aware of that. But it killed me to think that my life would never be that easy or satisfying. How was I supposed to grow up, get married and have children when I was like this? And what if – supposing that somehow I met someone and actually did marry her – what if my child became a mutant, too?

"Jesus," I muttered. Enough. I didn't like thinking of my future, or lack thereof. It was better to just take things one day at a time. Standing up, I stretched my body long and tall, reaching my arms high over my head to ease the muscles in my sides and back. I spread my wings out as far as they would reach, giving them an experimental twitch. Okay, I thought. Good to go…

And then, I felt it again.

I've been stared at all my life, in some form or another. When I was younger, it was simply for being the blonde-haired, blue-eyed progeny of Warren and Katherine Worthington; the supposed spoiled rich brat. As I grew older and developed, it was often just for being an attractive teenage boy – not to sound arrogant, but it's simply the truth. And, of course, beyond that, it was because of my odd behavior. So, yeah, I'd been watched a lot over the years. Point being, I knew what it felt like, and I was feeling it again, just as I had only a few weeks earlier. That odd, prickly sensation on the back of your neck, the kind that tells you that someone's monitoring you from afar. I'd had paparazzi attempt to take my picture before, both in my 'normal' life and while I was 'working', of course, but this was different. This wasn't some guy angling to get a good shot so he could bring home a hefty paycheck from the New York Star. It felt like someone just idly watching… and waiting.

But as fantastic as my eyesight was – and God knows I'd been able to pick out things impossible to humans – I could see no one. I whipped my head back and forth, carefully scrutinizing the street below, the individual windows of the buildings across the street, the line of trees, the shadows. Nothing. Unsettled, I wasted no time in leaping off the fire escape and back into the air. Time to head out. I dove downward to gather some speed before sailing away as fast as my wings would take me.

xxxxx

I didn't see him at first. There were cop cars scattered all across the bridge, groups of people gathered around the railing, and the sound of sirens wailing into the relative silence of the night. Those caught my attention first – and judging by the hoopla, I'd been sure there was some sort of mass tragedy; a car wreck or something of the sort. But as I flew closer, I saw what the ruckus was about – a jumper.

They say that those who commit suicide by way of sleeping pills or wrist-cutting are not people who truly want to die. It's a cry for help, however intentional or not. Because, after all, those methods are reversible – someone can take you to a hospital to get your stomach pumped or your wrists stitched up. You can heal.

Other non-reversible ways, however, are serious, done by people who are really seeking death as a release, who are utterly, deeply depressed and hopeless. Putting a gun to your head. Jumping off a bridge. Methods that, once they're in motion, have no option of going back.

And that's why, when approaching the scene, I knew it was serious. Leaping from the Tremonte Bridge onto the hard, unforgiving concrete below wasn't a cry for help. It was an escape.

I flew closer and then stopped, bobbing in the air several hundred yards away. The man was on the thin outer ledge of the bridge, gripping onto the metal edge to keep from falling. There was another gentleman, an officer, leaning down, and I presumed he was attempting to coax the man back up. Although I wasn't sure how that was going to happen – the jumper was far out of reach from anyone's arms, and the cables that suspended the bridge made it difficult to fit any sort of equipment through. They could maybe throw him down a harness, but he was so haphazardly holding on that I didn't think he would be able to put one on without plummeting.

I bit my lip, indecisive. I'd never dealt with any incidents that had been intentionally caused… helping people in accidents or fires was generally my line of specialty. But someone who was trying to end their life? I wasn't so sure I wanted to get involved…

And yet, I couldn't stop myself. Guilt? Necessity? Habit? I wasn't sure the reason, but I went for it. Taking a deep breath of the frosty night air, I let my wings push me forward and flew towards the scene. I debated which way would be best to approach him – straight on? From above? Or below? In the end, I decided to swoop lower and fly up – that way, if he fell or jumped, I'd be underneath anyway and in a better position to catch.

As I got closer, I heard the crowd react. 'Look!' 'Oh my God!' 'It's the Angel!' A quick glance from the side of my eye confirmed it – there were now several dozen people no longer staring at the jumper, but at me as I made a wide half-circle under the bridge. Never mind the suicidal man barely clinging to the side of the bridge – the freak show had just rolled into town… Smiling grimly, I ignored their points and stares and instead focused on my task. I was immensely grateful for my mask. Somehow, I felt more confident when I wore it.

I stretched my arms out, getting balanced as I flew straight up. From far back, I hadn't been able to see any features of the jumper – he'd had his head lowered, with longish, stringy salt and pepper hair dangling in front of his face. He wasn't a big man but slightly paunchy, I noted as I got closer, with a soft, round stomach and short legs and arms. And, I finally noticed, his eyes were squinted tightly shut. I flapped harder; once, twice, three times before rising directly before him. The crowd gave an audible gasp – this was probably the closest I'd ever been to so many people at once, and under the harsh fluorescent lights of the bridge, I knew they were getting a good, solid look at me. And again, I was very grateful for the mask…

The people on the bridge above were screaming, shouting out suggestions, encouragement, disparagement, even some random insults. I pushed all that out of my mind. Taking another deep breath, I opened my mouth to speak. I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to say – what, introduce myself? 'Hello, I'm the Avenging Angel, nice to meet you'? Luckily, sort of, the man finally opened his eyes and noticed me before I could begin to talk, and he started the conversation for me.

"What the fuck?" he said hoarsely. "Are you– are you the—"

"Yes," I answered calmly. I held out one arm, beckoning him to me. "Come on."

"What are you doing?" His knuckles were white, his arms shaking from the exertion of hanging onto the ledge. I met his eyes, noticing the wild, unfocused glaze in them. Swallowing, I realized that perhaps I was in a bit over my head here – this man didn't look like the most stable of people, and I certainly had no experience whatsoever in dealing with psychological disorders.

"I'm here to help," I said, deciding to keep it short and simple.

He sucked in his breath deeply and let out a short, harsh bark of a laugh. "Help," he said bitterly, his words nearly unintelligible. His teeth were clenched together, spittle flying from his lips as he spoke. "You can't help me."

Oh, shit, here we go. A licensed psychologist, I was not. "I can help you get down," I said. "Come on." I propelled myself forward a bit, preparing to grab on to his arms and draw him in.

"No!" He lashed one hand out, smacking my chest with a loud thump, before lunging back and slamming himself against the bridge, curling into a little ball on the ledge. Above, I heard shrieks and gasps of surprise from the crowd, who were just as startled as me. I swore loudly, flailing my arms to regain my balance – he'd pushed hard. Jesus Christ. "Leave me the fuck alone!"

"Hey man, chill," I said, attempting to be as soothing as possible – which was difficult since I really wanted to smack him back. I felt ridiculous, floating up there in front of him and attempting to coax him down like a frightened kitten from a tree. "It'll be okay. Just let me get you down from here and we'll find someone who—"

"You don't understand…" His voice changed then, taking on a sorrowful, hollow tinge. "I can't. I can't do it. My life is too fucked up. It's too much…"

"Your life is fucked up?" I repeated. I knew I should have felt sympathy for the man, but instead a hint of anger began to boil under my skin. I actually crossed my arms, feeling a childish urge to argue with him.

"My wife just left me," he wept. He uncurled a little bit, raising his head and allowing me to see the beginnings of tears welling up in his eyes. "I was—I was—she caught me with another woman. I didn't mean to, it just happened… It's my fault, it's all my fucking fault…" He took a deep, ragged breath. "She won't let me see Clara. My little girl. She just up and left, packed and took Clara with her…"

I really did not want to get into this conversation. Saving people from physical danger was one thing, saving them from themselves was another thing entirely. "It will be okay," I finally replied, mainly because I wasn't sure what else to say. "There's no reason for you to… for you to do this. You'll get to see your daughter. Courts will make sure of that, even if you get divorced." My wings were beginning to get tired. Hovering in place was something that took a lot of effort and concentration. I tried to ignore the burning in my back as he spoke.

"She'll take all my money and my daughter. I don't want to be alone," he cried out, wailing. He slumped even further down, and I had the fleeting thought, as I studied his round, heavy body, that he looked kind of like what I'd always envisioned Humpty Dumpty would look like. "She's leaving, she hates me, and I just can't do it anymore…" His eyes fixated on mine, unwavering, and I noticed that his pupils were huge. Dilated. I wondered if he'd taken any sort of drugs before climbing up on Tremonte. "I don't want to be alone," he whispered again.

I don't want to be alone… that statement reverberated around my brain, bouncing around but refusing to leave. Alone? Fuck, I knew all about that…

"Look," I said, speaking a little more gently this time. "It'll be okay. You've just got to give problems a chance to work themselves out…" I paused. It was probably selfish to turn this conversation towards me, but I didn't know what the hell else to tell him. "Look at me. Do you think my life is easy?"

He didn't say anything. I felt increasingly uncomfortable under his steady gaze; he was sizing me up. Studying my build, my wings, probably the few features he could see.

I don't want to be alone… why couldn't I get that out of my head?

"Well, the point is," I said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, "that it's not. And I know yours isn't. And it's like that for a lot of people. But you do what you can, right? Suicide isn't going to solve anything. It's a cheap way out." I held out my arm again, this time a little more cautiously. "So come on. Let's get down, all right? I'm getting tired, and I'm sure you are, too."

I held that pose, arm outstretched for several long, excruciating minutes. The onlookers continued their shouts and stares, cars kept driving on the road below, and the wind still blew at a steady, chilly rate, ruffling my feathers and causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. Finally, the man moved, adjusting his body and giving me a fearful gaze.

"Okay," he whispered. I breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. He tentatively grabbed on to my arm, steadying himself.

"Good," I said, relieved. Now, how to get him down… I took a moment to size him up. He was too big to carry in my arms… I could maybe hold him in a bear-style hug, as awkward as that would be… "Okay, just lean towards me, give me your other arm, and—"

CLINK!

I heard the odd noise before I saw anything – a strange, metallic snapping, like the sound of a giant guitar string being broken. I whipped my head around, trying to figure what had happened and where it came from, when the shouts of the crowd above us intensified into screams. I heard another noise, a faint, whistling whip, and I finally looked up. And screamed.

"Holy FUCK!"

I barely had time to react. By sheer instinct, I grabbed the man in a crushing bear hug and kicked my feet against the bridge, propelling us backwards. He let out a little shriek of terror, grabbing onto me and digging his thick fingers into my skin. I grimaced at the sharp pressure, knowing that I'd have bruises in the morning.

The two of us hurtled away from the bridge helter-skelter. I gasped, struggling to reorient myself, get a better hold on the man, and leverage my wings. He was heavy, more so than I had anticipated. After several uncertain minutes, I managed to stop our teetering free-fall.

The man was whimpering in my arms, terrified. He was barely holding on – I hadn't had time to get a proper grip, and no matter how I shifted or lifted, I couldn't get him in a better hold. I looked up, studying the broken bridge cable with morbid fascination.

"What the fuck?" I whispered, more to myself. It was hanging limp over the bridge, right in the exact spot where we'd been. If I hadn't gotten us out of the way in time, then we would have been struck by it. I narrowed my eyes at the bizarre coincidence. How did that happen? I wondered. An accident? Too much weight on that side? Did something hit it or clip it? Those cables were thick, industrial-grade metal… it would have taken some seriously heavy tools or machinery to tear them down.

"Put me down," the man cried out. His hysteria was rapidly rising, which I found ironic. So, the man who had been ready to fling himself off the edge only minutes before was now panicking at being held suspended in the air? "Put me down, put me down, put me down, put me—"

"Okay," I said loudly. I glanced up – the crowd had dispersed when the cable broke, running in all different directions, but people were cautiously beginning to return. "We're going." I turned my body, preparing to fly down to the ground below.

CLINK!

This time, I didn't even have a second to turn around.

You know how in movies, accidents happen in slow motion? When cars wreck, they tumble end-over-end in excruciating detail. When people are shot, they stumble for several long minutes, arms flailing and body twitching. When someone falls, it seems like they take forever before actually hitting the ground.

Only, it feels like it really does happen like that in real life, as well.

He was pulled from my arms. One moment, I was holding him in a bear hug, the next, he grew uncontrollably heavy and was sliding between the loop of my arms. I tried to grab him, but I wasn't fast enough. His hands grasped at me, at my body and clothes, ripping the long sleeve of my shirt when the pressure became too much. I cried out in surprise, looking down, watching him fall towards the road below.

Whatthefuckwhatjusthappenedholyshitholyshitholyshit…

The entire moment felt suspended in time. And then, as he fell further away from me, I noticed something disturbing. The torn ends of the two cables – the one that had broken first, and the one that had just broken – were wrapped around the man's legs, the way a boa constrictor wraps around a victim. It didn't make sense even to my own keen eyes; I couldn't wrap my head around the visual, but there was no mistaking it – the cables had somehow wound themselves around his ankles, and they had been what pulled him from my arms.

What just happened! What the fuck is going on here!

"He let him fall!" I heard the horrified screams above me. "Oh my God, he let him fall!"

No! No, weren't you watching? Didn't you see that! But I already knew the answer to that. I could see what had happened, sure, but no one up on the bridge had the eyes of a hawk… And I was sure that when that second cable had snapped, everyone had run for cover again and not seen the man being pulled from my arms.

But I didn't bother to defend myself to the audience by explaining all that. Instead, I folded my wings back and hurtled downward, determined to dive-bomb my way back to the man to catch him. There was still a chance…

"Hang on," I shouted to him, knowing that my words were probably lost in the rushing wind. I thrust my arms out in front of me to deflect the air, the way a diver does to minimize splash. I was gaining ground rapidly – I'd done the diving thing before, but never so fast or fierce. I fell down, down, straight down. Edging closer and closer…

Stop it, Worthington… you have to stop… put on the brakes, or you're going to hit the ground, too… I was getting dangerously close to the asphalt below, and getting nearer by the second – it took a certain amount of time and technique to successfully pull myself out of a dive, and I knew that the cut-off point was only seconds away. I was so close to him, though… God, he was only a few feet away, but I just couldn't reach…

I blinked, a thought bursting into my head with frightening force and truth. If I don't stop, I'm going to die.

I was faced with a choice – do the supposed 'noble' thing by catching up with the man and praying that we both wouldn't shatter every last bone in our bodies on impact, or do the selfish thing by pulling off and saving myself.

I met the man's eyes as we fell together. He was too far away, too far beyond the reach of my extended hand. Newton was right, I just couldn't fall fast enough; I wasn't going to make it. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry…"

Then, I turned away, lungs, throat, and eyes burning. I lifted my upper body, arcing and pulling out of the fall. I heard screams, the squeal of brakes, a sickening thump, metal crunching. He'd hit the ground or possibly a car… God, what about the people below, driving? I hadn't even thought about them… What if it caused another wreck? Oh, shit, oh shit…

But I kept my eyes up, refusing to look down. I didn't want to know how bad it was. I didn't want to see what I'd just allowed to happen. I just let a man die…

I felt sick to my stomach. The press would have a field day with this, I was sure… and there were dozens of witnesses who would only be too happy to give their personal commentary… Oh, God, I just let a man die… I tried, I swear, I tried… what happened? The cables… how did that happen?

My heart was racing, my breathing shallow. I had to get out, I had to get home. I immediately flew towards my apartment, numb and shaking. With one looping thought running through my head.

I don't want to be alone right now…

xxxxx

"I don't want to be alone right now…"

I whispered the words aloud. I was perched on the edge of my bed, knees curled to my chest, wings curled around my sides. I felt tiny and helpless and broken in a way that hadn't happened in a long time, not since my friend Gabe and I wrecked our bikes out on Caberne Pike. We'd both completely wiped out, tumbling ass over backwards onto the asphalt and skidding against the concrete. But I'd gotten away with the relatively minor injury of a side and back scraping with matching bruises, while Gabe had broken three ribs, his arm, and cracked his skull, spending nearly a month in the hospital while his bones healed and the swelling went down. It had been my fault then, too – I'd taunted him into riding faster, mocking the awkward way his short legs peddled until he'd had enough and had tried to outdo me…

Back then, of course, my parents had taken me home, hugged me, soothed me, assured me over and over that it hadn't been my fault. Family had come in to visit and spoil me. And my other friends had stopped by regularly, bringing toys and candy. It was the best way to heal, both physically and emotionally – surrounded by people I loved, who I in turn loved back.

I'd taken that community for granted at that age. Who did I have now? I'd shunned any real friends, I avoided most of my family, and I couldn't very well explain why I was so upset to my parents. I'd felt lost and vulnerable before, obviously, but this was different. Worse. Much, much worse. I was never going to get that image out of my mind – the man falling, his eyes beseeching and pleading with me to help. Those metal cables, mysteriously entwined around his ankles…

I was just trying to help… I don't understand… It was as if someone had pulled him from me on purpose, but that made no sense… who would do that? Why? And how? How was it possible to control two broken bridge cables, especially in such a detailed extent?

"Fuck," I whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" I rocked back and forth on the bed, gripping my shins tightly. I turned my head, resting the side of my head on the top of my knees, staring at the dresser table, unblinking. My cell phone was sitting on top, silent, and I stared at it. What I wouldn't give to have someone to talk to right now… just to listen. It wasn't fair, I'd been so strong all my life, so self-possessed, but I could feel all that slipping away with each replay of the accident in my mind.

I swallowed, uncurling my body and crawling to the head of the bed. I needed rest, desperately… As I lay on my side, folding my knees up close, I did something I'd never bothered to do before, not even the night my wings had grown in. Ironic, particularly for an 'Angel' such as myself…

I prayed.