A/N: Burning up the keyboard! This ended up being a little longer than I expected. But finally, some more action! ha. Seriously, Warren should just stay away from bridges from here on.
As always, reviews make me happy. And motivated. ;)
Chapter 13: Forgive and Forget
Warren
I hadn't flown in weeks. After the incident at my parents' house over Christmas, and my general unease over my secret being unintentionally shared, I'd kept a low profile, opting to let the crimes and accidents of New York City happen in their own time. The media, who had regularly berated my superheroic actions and condemned me as a freak of nature, exploded with anger, claiming I had 'abandoned' my duties. Rich, eh? Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
Admittedly, a small fraction of me felt guilty, especially when I was treated to an interview with a sobbing, bereft family member on the evening news; however, the larger, more rational part of me didn't care. I wasn't contracted to save the world. I didn't get paid. Any charitable acts on my part were purely that – charity. And if I didn't feel like flying for a night – or two, or three, or twenty-four – then that was my prerogative.
Nevertheless, on the evening of February 9th, I felt twitchy, ready to get back into action. A premonition of what was to come? Maybe. I prefer to think of it as pure dumb luck on the part of one nosy, brown-haired woman.
I sailed effortlessly through the crisp night air, surveying the world below me. I'd thought that I would feel out of practice, that all the time off I'd taken would have atrophied my abilities. However, as I flew lower and ducked around the National Bank skyscraper, I felt wired, recharged, explosive. Full of unspent energy. Fresh. Taking a break was a good idea in more ways than one, I mused. Truthfully, I probably should have taken them more often.
Because not even I could fly fast enough to cover the entire city, I'd chosen to stake out the East side for the evening. I'd realized, after months of informal investigation, that the most trouble happened in the east. Blame it on something in the water, maybe, but I didn't have a solid explanation for the discrepancy. I'd had to spend more time there than anywhere else.
Sure enough, it wasn't long before I heard a familiar sound – screaming, crying, pleas for help and the sickening sound of metal crunching. Another car accident? I shuddered. Those were often the worst – sometimes I would arrive on the scene only to find a twisted hunk of metal, the person trapped inside either already dead or rapidly heading that direction. In those cases, there was nothing I could do.
I headed for the source, closing my eyes for concentration, letting my ears be my guide. The sound was coming from somewhere on my left, so I deftly rolled and turned that way, spreading my wings to their full length and letting the tailwind carry me.
My senses led me to a bridge, the Lawson, if memory served. I pulled up and hesitated, floating a safe distance up and away from human eyes. Ever since the mysterious death of the suicide jumper in early December, I'd felt a keen uneasiness around the structures. Remembering the way the metal cables had snapped without reason, latching onto the man in my arms... it wasn't a good association.
The Tremonte had been a land bridge, serving as a way to cross over the busy intersections below. Lawson bridged the river and was substantially higher. Easing downward, I surveyed the situation, my eyes widening when I saw the chaos below.
Cars were strewn about the bridge like a child's discarded toys, some pointing the wrong direction, some overturned or on their side, some halfway crashed through the metal support cables. It looked, on first glance, to be the single worst car pile-up in New York state history. What could have caused all this? I wondered, watching as drivers and passengers fled from their cars, most running helter-skelter towards land. Why are they running? What's happening?
I flew closer. There was a small crowd gathered on the opposite side, almost directly in the center of the bridge, though one by one they began to scatter and flee. Looking more carefully, I saw a yellow cab, tangled and hanging precariously in the cables, rocking back and forth in the wind. Oh, shit, I thought. I wonder if anyone is still in--
"HELP! PLEASE HELP!"
My thought was answered even before I could finish it. Someone was trapped in that dangling car, a young woman. She was hanging out the side, screaming, terrified. Without hesitation, I dropped down.
When I was closer, just above the car, I eased down, hoping my wings wouldn't cause too much of a disturbance. The cab was moving as if on a fulcrum, and I realized a little too late that the strong downwind I could cause might send it plummeting over the side. Slowly, carefully, I lowered until I was hovering in between the side of the cab and the bridge. All I could see was a dark head of hair, long, shiny brunette strands that looked awfully familiar...
She looked up.
SERA.
I sucked in a sharp breath – to describe the feeling as shocked would be to do it a grave injustice. I froze while time, and my heart, stopped for a few long seconds. Sera Slone was hanging out of the cab, only moments away from certain death. And because I'd answered her cries, it was up to me to save her.
Her eyes grew comically wide, and I could see her knuckles tightening on the door. "War--"
"Sera," I said sharply, cutting her off. She started, clamping her mouth closed as if she understood her error, and nodded, silent. Her tears rolled freely, sending ugly black smears of mascara under her eyes and down her cheeks. She swallowed, reaching one hand out towards me, leaning further away from the car, and I could practically hear her silent screams: help me, please, help me...
A strong gust of wind rocked the car, the metal creaking as the weight began shifting more towards the back. She lost her balance and clumsily fell forward, her legs kicking around inside, head banging against the side of the car. She was upside down, precariously close to pitching out of the car altogether and into the cold, ominous water below.
I didn't think twice: I swiftly reached out, grabbing her arms and pulling her upright, helping her get her balance. Her breath came in short, frantic bursts; half-sobs. As I righted her, I got a strong, pungent whiff of alcohol – whiskey. She's drunk, I suddenly realized. And not just drunk, but absolutely smashed... for some reason, the thought of straight-laced Sera Slone knocking back shots of whiskey made me want to laugh.
She quickly brought me back to reality, however, with her next statement.
"I know you hate me," she said, her voice nasal and quivering from the tears. She held onto my hands, squeezing them with an intensity I didn't know she was capable of. "But please, please help me."
She thinks you hate her.
Well, don't you?
Looking into her terrified brown eyes, what little anger I'd been holding on for the past weeks melted. A little, tiny fraction of my conscience had whispered that I should just leave her, to punish her for what she'd done, but I couldn't even entertain the thought. I didn't – I couldn't – hate her. And especially not when she was desperate, clinging to me and sobbing for her life. I'd never intentionally abandoned anyone I'd come to help, and I wasn't about to start now.
"Sera," I said, keeping my voice steady to try and calm her. "Climb out a little more. Reach for me. Put your arms around my neck."
"I'm scared," she whispered.
I'd heard that nervous comment countless times before, usually in reference to heights, and I gave her the same answer I gave them all. "It's okay. You'll only be in the air for a few seconds."
She sniffed loudly and gave a tentative nod. She moved her hands up my forearms, biceps, shoulders – she was afraid to let go entirely, it seemed, and instead kept a constant grip on me to steady herself. Meanwhile, the cab driver, who had been moaning in Spanish the entire time, groaned loudly, turning to look back. His jaw dropped when he saw me, and he immediately added his two cents.
"Socorro!" he cried out, frantically pulling on his seatbelt. His motions were beginning to rock the car, shit. "Ayúdeme, por favor!"
I'd taken Spanish in high school, but hadn't used it since – I'd never had the need to, until now. I racked my brain, trying to think of how to respond. So much for expensive private education.
"No se preocupe," I said slowly. Had I even said that right? Fuck it, I didn't have time to mentally recap my old Spanish lessons. "I'll get you next."
"¡Mí primero! Por favor!"
Well, I remembered that 'primero' meant first, so I assumed he wished for me to leave Sera in the car and tend to him. What a gentleman. Sera grabbed my shoulders, her fingertips digging into my collarbone.
"Sir," I said, trying to speak evenly so he could understand. "I need to get her first." To further prove my point, I slowly moved my hand to Sera's waist, getting ready to move her closer so I could pull her out.
"No, no!" He was clambering in the driver's seat, frantic. Sera let out a little whimper as the car creaked. "Angel!" he shouted over and over. "Angel!"
"Hang on!" I said, exasperated. "Stay. One at a time. I just need to--"
"And so it goes." I was interrupted by a new voice – one so powerful, so commanding, that the three of us froze in our respective places – me in the air, Sera with her arms extended on my shoulders, the cabbie hanging out of the driver's side window. I slowly turned to look over my shoulder, not believing my eyes.
A tall, thin man stood on the bridge behind us, clad in full-on regalia that would have made Superman proud – a full bodysuit, crimson-red, with strategically installed pieces of armor covering his chest, shoulders, boots, and more vulnerable areas. He wore a matching helmet that curved around his face, obscuring all his features except the mouth and the eyes: light, piercing blue; unflinching, unwavering. He was also wearing a lavender cape, of all things, the rich fabric billowing and flowing with the wind.
He stood alone, holding his ground in a an empty clearing of asphalt devoid of cars. No one spoke for several seconds. Then the mysterious man continued. "They're always so ungrateful, don't you think? They're the weak ones, the helpless, the sick and injured... the un-evolved. And you come along, ready to help, and they treat you like scum, try to order you around, even as you save their sorry lives... What is that old saying, you know – the one about beggars not being choosers?"
"What?" Sera whispered. She cowered down, uneasy and further frightened.
I shared the sentiment. What the hell is happening? Who is this crackpot? Why is he here? I didn't even know how to answer his question. However, it seemed that didn't matter, because he had plenty to say.
"But I must admit, I find it funny, and a bit pathetic, to see one of our kind wasting his talents to help humans. The Avenging Angel, sacrificing himself on behalf of the citizens of New York, bringing salvation to those in need... though it is poetic, I'll give you that."
I found my voice. "Who the fuck are you?" I snarled.
"Not such an angelic mouth, I see." The man smirked, his lips curling up with distaste. "Perhaps you're not as innocent or altruistic as you appear."
"Who is he?" Sera whispered.
"I have no earthly fucking clue," I muttered. "But we're getting out of here." I turned back to her, wondering if I could possibly carry the both of them at the same time. Looking at the cabbie, I doubted it. The man easily weighed 300, maybe even 350, and at about 5'9" and curvy, Sera herself wasn't exactly a toothpick. The two of them together probably weigh over 500 pounds... I don't know if I can handle that much weight...
"Angel." The man's voice carried through the air behind me, the rich baritone filling the empty skies. "Why do you do it? Why do you waste your time with them?"
I ignored him. I'd have to stick with one at a time, I decided, because it was too risky to try them both. "Sera," I said quietly. "I'm going to put my arms around you and lift you out. Okay?" She nodded, her eyes darting towards the river below us. "Don't look down," I chided her. "Look at me."
I heard a familiar creak, a low, inhuman groan, followed by a CLINK. The sound, once again, of metal bending and breaking.
The cables!
Deja vu... I looked up, horrified to see one of the supports flying down towards, me, snapping like a whip. I had to let go of Sera, pushing her away and diving down to keep from getting hit. The cable fell into the river with a loud splash. Sera and the cab driver fell back into the car, screaming.
"Pardon me," the man said sarcastically, and I turned to face him. "I forgot – you've been through this one before. I'm usually much more original than that."
"What?" I asked, a feeling of dread rising in my chest.
He merely smiled, holding his hands out, palms facing heavenward. He gently bent his fingers up in a beckoning manner, and I watched in horror as two of the mangled trucks behind him rose into the air. "This should be a new challenge for you," he said casually. "Though I apologize, I couldn't decide on just one. Do you ever have that problem in your line of work, Angel? Who do you save when you only get one chance?" Then, with a flick of his wrists, the cars flew towards me, crashing through the cables and showering us all with sparks.
I dove out of the way. Metal. He controls metal! The thoughts tumbled out, unorganized but clear – the man was a mutant, a seriously pissed-off one at that, and for whatever reason, I was his new target. Of course. He's been following me, he's the one I've felt in the shadows... he was the reason the man was pulled from my arms at Tremonte. But why? What have I ever done to him?
I didn't have time to think about that. All I knew was I had to get out, and fast, before he sent one of those cars crashing straight into my chest. I started to fly off, to get away as fast as inhumanly possible, when I remembered.
Sera.
Shit! I turned and headed directly for the cab. We would have to make this fast, and it looked like carrying them both was my only option. Luckily, she had regained her footing inside the car and was already leaning out, frantically waving her arms. I flew closer. "Just grab onto me," I said, breathless. "We have to get out of here!"
The cab driver leaned out of his window, frantically reaching for me, shouting words I couldn't understand. They were both grabbing, fighting for help. I took Sera's arm, determined to pull her out first and make sure she was secure, but the man was insistent, pushing her arms off, wrangling to be the first out. "Stop!" I shouted at him. "If you'd fucking calm down, I could get you both out!"
"You and I have a lot in common," the mutant called to my back. "More than you realize, Angel, I'm sure."
"Whatever," I muttered to myself, wrestling away from the cabbie's ham-handed grip.
"You and I should talk," he continued, either oblivious or impervious to the fact that I was trying to ignore him. "I think you'd be interested in what I have to say."
If I'm not listening now, what makes you think I'm going to listen later? God, this guy was a nut job. I finally began to understand, after all these years, why humans harbored such unnatural fear of something they didn't understand – mutations. This man not only possessed a frighteningly powerful supernatural ability, but also the sadistic, evil mind to use it for all the wrong reasons.
Suddenly, the cab began to move away from me, lifting up into the air, straining against the cables that held it precariously in place. "How silly of me," the mutant called out to me, dark humor lacing his tone. "Of course, you're too distracted to listen right now. Allow me to help."
The next few seconds were a jumble: the cab lifting out of reach, Sera's terrified expression as she was pulled out of my arms, and then the shocking, heavy weight of the cab driver as he threw himself out of the car and into my chest. I fell back from the impact, gasping as the breath was knocked from my lungs. My wings strained to correct our trajectory and keep us from spinning out of control.
"Ah, I see you've chosen which one to save," the mutant said. "So I'll do you the favor of discarding the other."
With another flick of the wrist, he sent the cab – and Sera – flying, speeding away from the bridge like a Nolan Ryan fastball.
xxxxx
My father was fond of reminding me that in life, I'd be forced to make hard decisions. Whether it was choosing the right school, or breaking up with a girl I didn't love, or investing in the right mutual fund, he'd counseled me on the necessity of trusting your instincts while acting as quickly as possible. "Time will become more important and less abundant as you get older," I could remember him saying after he'd come back from a particularly brutal business meeting with his colleagues. They'd raked him over the coals for buying out a smaller steel mill that was on the verge of bankruptcy, but he'd made the purchase quickly so that the anxious factory workers wouldn't be laid off. "You have to get smart, and get quick, about making choices that are right for you, and right for others. A month, week, day, even a minute can make a difference."
At the time, of course, I'd rolled my eyes and pushed his wisdom aside like a typical know-it-all teenager. But as usual, his words came full circle: sometimes you had to act fast and deal with any consequences later. I had a choice: save the man, the sure thing, or try and save Sera, whose situation was looking dire. Which choice could I live with?
I didn't even hesitate. I threw the cab driver onto the bridge, not bothering to see where he landed. Consider yourself saved, you son of a bitch, I thought grimly as I took off. The mutant had tossed the cab towards the middle of the river, where it was considerably darker, but I could see the shadow of the cab as it arced and fell towards the water. I wasn't going to get there in time – it would hit the surface before I could pull her out – so I just prayed the impact wouldn't kill her.
The cab hit with a spectacular splash, the displaced water cascading high into the air. Because several of the windows had been open, the car sank rapidly, and was over halfway submerged by the time I reached it. I dove down, hovering above the sinking mess, calling Sera's name. Nothing. It was dark, I could see no sign of her amid the bubbling water, and the car was already too far down for me to reach inside. Diving in was a bad idea, as I didn't have time or even a place to knock the water off my wings. I'd learned years ago during a thunderstorm that soaking wet feathers were heavy and completely unsuitable for flight.
"Damn it, Sera," I shouted. "Goddamnit, don't you do this..."
Sucking in my breath, I straightened my body until I was horizontal, parallel to the water. I lowered as far as I could go, my wings straining to keep me from pitching in after her. The very tips were already smacking against the water with each powerful flap, the feathers splashing little drops with each strike... I was too close, this wasn't going to work...
Determined, I stuck one arm in the water, reaching and grabbing as far as I could reach. Nothing. No, no, no... Come on, Sera...
My hand brushed against something solid and moving. Her arm! "Aaah!" I yelled, sweat beading up on my forehead. I managed to get a firm grip, pulling up. Seconds later, Sera's head emerged from the water, her hair soaked and covering her face. She coughed and sputtered, wheezing for breath as I lifted her completely from the water.
I wasn't sure how conscious or coherent she would be after that little trip, but as I got her into proper flying position – one arm under the knees, one under the back – she recognized me. One good sign, at least.
"Warren," she mumbled behind the thick, wet plaster of hair. "Warren..."
"Ssssh," I said. I glanced behind me. The bridge was far behind us, nothing but a small line of lights dotting the sky. In the middle of the river, we were alone, but I didn't know for how long. Would the mutant follow me out here? Could he? I didn't want to find out. "I'm getting you out of here."
She pushed her hair back and began to cry again, burying her face in my neck and wrapping her arms tightly around me. She was breathing hard, so hard, that I feared she might hyperventilate. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."
"Don't thank me just yet. We're still not on land."
I took us nearly a mile away, finding an empty street to safely land on without any cars or pedestrians with prying eyes. As my feet touched the asphalt, I gently lowered my arms and set her down. Her elbows were tightly locked around my neck as if frozen, and I pried at her, encouraging her to let go. As soon as I loosened her grip, however, she fell down and hit the street in an ungainly heap. She grabbed her chest and closed her eyes, her breathing still coming in short, staccato gasps.
I wasn't sure what to do. "Sera," I said. "Are you okay?" Well, I think that answer's pretty obvious, Worthington. Why don't you ask her if she had a nice swim while you're at it?
She pushed her wet hair out of her face and shrugged, not speaking.
"Are you hurt?" I asked. Another shrug. I said nothing, knowing that there were no words that would help matters at the moment. She sat on the road for several long minutes, silently shivering. "Sera," I said again.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and I furrowed my brow. "I'll... I'll call someone. Someone to come get me. You don't have to stay." She pulled her phone out of her pocket, her visibly trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons. I pursed my lips together. You just begged me to help you, and now you want me to leave already?
She dropped the phone onto the pavement, crying out in frustration when her hands wouldn't cooperate. I wanted to look away; watching her unravel felt intrusive and wrong. She would be embarrassed at her behavior, I knew, once she'd sobered up. I sighed, squatting down next to her.
"You're drunk, Sera," I said. "I can still smell it on your breath. Where do you live? I'll just take you home."
"No," she mumbled. "No, no, I'll call. I'll be fine. Go on, go home... you need to go, before someone sees you..." She was rambling, irrational, a far cry from the calmly confident girl from class who'd busted my balls every time I tried to get out of working on the project. She grabbed the phone and began pressing the buttons again, looking confused at the black, unresponsive screen.
"You were just submerged in the river," I said, taking it from her hand and examining the outer casing. Water dripped from the corners, falling to the ground and freezing on impact. Yeah, it was a lost cause. "I doubt your phone is going to work."
"I can walk. The subway..." She crawled to her feet and immediately stumbled, her unstable condition belying her words.
"No, you can't," I said, grabbing her arms to prevent another fall. She'd already ripped her skirt and scraped up her knees from that first tumble, and there were small nicks and cuts all over her bare arms, likely from the car accident. Looking closer, I could see a large, swollen bump just beyond the hairline on her temple. I wondered if she had a concussion. She was certainly behaving strangely enough. "Where do you live?"
"I..." she trailed off, and I braced myself for another crying jag. She covered her face, shoulders trembling. "I can't think right now..."
In the distance, I heard the motor of a car, coming from far down the street. Shit. It sounded like it was heading this way, though it was still too far to tell. Nevertheless, I knew we couldn't stand out in the street for much longer. She was right, sooner or later someone was bound to come along and see me standing with her and talking, something I never did with any of the people I saved. It was too open, too risky here. I needed to leave, get out of sight. For both our sakes.
I sighed, assessing Sera's sorry state. She's drunk, disjointed, soaking wet, terrified, sobbing, bleeding, and might have a concussion. So what, you think you can leave her alone on the street, just like that? Leave her to call her friend or a cab or 911?
I hung my head, already knowing the answer to that. I couldn't leave her... what would happen after I took off? It wasn't wise for any woman in New York to take to the streets by herself, much less an intoxicated, incoherent one. She could be attacked again, or fall unconscious on the streets, or get hit by a car...
In one swift motion, I pulled her into my arms again. Her body was soft, limp, heavy. And cold, alarmingly so. "All right," I said, a little reluctant. "I have to get you – and myself – out of here and somewhere safe. So since you can't tell me where you live, then we're going to my place." Without listening to her alarmed protests, I leaped up and back into the sky.
xxxxx
I'd forgotten that the atmosphere became substantially colder the higher one flew. I'd gotten used to the briskness thousands of feet above the earth, but a human, a normal person? Especially one that happened to be completely drenched? I could only imagine how miserable and painful the experience must have been. By the time I landed on the wide balcony of the penthouse, Sera's thin shirt had frozen through along with thick clumps of her hair, twisted and frosted like bizarre dreadlocks. She looked like an old rag doll that had been thrown out in the snow and forgotten.
The inside of the apartment was warm, hitting us like a welcome wave as I took her through the door. I set her down on the couch, cringing when she collapsed on her side, shivering. What to do first? Call a doctor? Give her something hot to drink? Make her take a warm shower?
"Sera," I said, squatting down in front of her. I grabbed the thick, decorative afghan that hung off the back cushions. My mother's meticulous interior decorating, while impeccable, was often a bit much for my tastes. She'd insisted the soft, intricate afghan added just the right splash of color to the room, but I'd always thought it was kind of pointless and a hassle to re-fold. Until now.
"Look at me," I said, throwing the afghan over her trembling body. It was knitted from thick, pliant wool, and I hoped it would help thaw out her icy skin. Her eyes slowly opened. "You can't go to sleep. You might have a concussion."
"I'm fine," she whispered.
I stood up, pacing. "You're not fine. I'm going to call our doctor, all right? He'll come over and check you out." I hadn't seen Dr. Davidson in years, but my parents had gone to him for regular check-ups since before I was born, and I knew I'd be able to coax him out for a house call. He would never turn a Worthington request down, and he would ask far fewer questions than an ER.
"No," she said. "No, I'm fine. I want to go home."
"You need to see a doctor first."
"I don't have money to pay him." Her voice was small, almost tinny, and she curled her knees in closer, tucking the blanket up under her chin. Her hair was starting to melt, fat drops dripping onto the suede cushions. Oh, my mother would kill me.
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. "Well, I do. I'll take care of it."
"Warren--"
"So I'm going to call him," I interrupted, "and in the meantime, you go shower. I don't want him to see you... well, like this, because I don't even know how we'd begin to explain it. And you need to get warm anyway. I'll find you something to wear."
She didn't move. "Sera," I said, "Can you get up?"
Interesting how our roles had reversed. She had spent months coaxing me to do her bidding, relentless in her quest for a good grade. She'd had an unprecedented amount of patience for my slacking and bad attitude, far more than most other people I'd known, save for my mother. As much as I'd sometimes hated being on the receiving end of her admonishments, I disliked being on the giving end even more. It didn't feel right.
"Why didn't you let me die?" She finally looked up, craning her head to meet my gaze.
I blinked. Well, that was certainly not a response I had expected. 'Yes', 'No', or 'Maybe' were more along the lines of what I'd been thinking. "What?"
She stared at me with glassy, watery eyes, and I became keenly aware of my wings fluttering up and down, expanding in and out with each agitated step I took. "You didn't have to save me," she said dully. "Why did you do it?"
"Why did I do it?" I repeated. What the hell kind of question was that? "You needed help. I help people. It's a pretty standard equation."
"But... but you hate me. And wouldn't it have made it easier? If I was gone, you wouldn't have to worry about anyone else finding out..."
"What?" I asked sharply. "You thought I would let you die because of that?"
"I didn't know," she said, shrinking down into the afghan.
"Jesus Christ, Sera," I snapped, stalking to the other side of the room. Did she really think I was that terrible of a person? That vindictive? "Thanks. That makes me feel fantastic."
"Did it never cross your mind?"
"No!" I practically shouted, though I felt that slight tinge of guilt, and not just for lying.
"Really, Warren?" She had fixed her focus on the chair across the room, her words faint. "Really?"
I exhaled, leaning against the fireplace mantle to calm down. "Fine. Briefly. For a fraction of a second, the thought – just the thought, not the urge – occurred to me." I looked back over my shoulder, ready to gauge her reaction.
She actually smiled at that, though it was faint. "At least you're honest."
I crossed my arms. "But I'm not a monster. I could have never, ever done that and lived with myself."
She sniffled, shedding the blanket and pushing herself up into a sitting position. Her thin blouse had melted too, sticking to her skin I places I knew I shouldn't be looking. "Who was that man on the bridge?" she asked, serious once again. "And why did he attack us? And you?"
I averted my eyes. "You know as much as I do," I said grimly. "I've never seen him before, but I think he's been following me."
"Why?"
"Again. You know as much as I do." I leaned forward, grimacing as I stretched. My shoulders and back were aching, probably from the strain of trying to pull Sera from the water. "But I have a feeling that's not the last I'll see of him." As I straightened up, I nodded to the blanket in what I hope was a casual manner. "You should, um, put that back on. You need to get warm."
She automatically draped it over her shoulders, pulling her legs in and resting her chin on one knee. She was always folding her body up, I noticed, as if retreating into a protective shell. At least she's sobered up now, I thought. Although it would have been hard not to, after what she'd been through. I'd splashed cold water from the faucet on my face before to clear my drink-addled thoughts, so I couldn't imagine what a dunk in the river followed by a ten-minute freezing cold air dry would do.
"I've never been so scared in my entire life," she said in a faraway voice. "I thought... I thought I was going to die."
She wiped under her eyes, and I realized she was tearing up again. She sucked in her lips in an effort not to cry, unsuccessfully, then gave a shaky laugh. "So that makes twice, then, that I've been saved by mutants. I'm starting to think that maybe the media's got it all wrong. We shouldn't be scared of you." She smiled at her light sarcasm.
I shrugged, sitting down on the loveseat. I refused to meet her eyes. "You were just as scared as anyone else would be when you caught me in here that night," I said, staring out the windows of the balcony doors. The moon was nearly full, hanging low in the sky, surrounded by skycrapers.
She paused to think about that, her face grave. "I wasn't scared of you, Warren," she said quietly. "I was scared of the implications of what I'd done. Of how you'd react, not as a mutant, but as a person... as my friend."
Friends? She had said that once before, but I'd assumed then that she was only using the term to try and guilt me into calming down. "Not scared of me? I don't believe that." I snorted. "What did you say earlier? 'Really, Sera, really?'"
"Okay. I was a little scared." She folded her arms, matching my stance, and then her expression softened. "But just for a moment... as you said."
"And at least you're honest." I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. "Well, it's over and done with," I said crisply. "And obviously you haven't told anyone, so..." I trailed off, unsure where I was going with that.
"Do you forgive me?"
I had to hand it to her. What better time or way to plead forgiveness than when you're at your absolute most vulnerable – tearful, shivering, injured, and shaking from a near-death experience. What man with a conscience could possibly shoot that down?
"Yeah," I finally said after a considerable amount of thought, a little surprised at how much I meant it. "I forgive you."
"Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you for everything."
"You already thanked me. Several times." I stood up, feeling a little embarrassed at showing my softer side. "I'm calling Dr. Davidson. There's a shower down the hall. Towels and soap should be out. Can you make it there?"
She nodded. "I think so." Standing up, she shuffled towards the back hallway, still wrapped tightly in the blanket. Before disappearing around the corner, she turned back to me, holding on to the antique cherry side table for support. "Warren... why are you being so nice to me?"
It was tempting to be insulted by her questions again, but the truth was, she had a point. Why was I being nice to her? I didn't have to bring her back here, I could have dropped her off at the police station or a fire department, let them take care of the doctoring and showering and unfreezing and rehydrating. For her, I'd gone above and beyond what I'd done for any of the hundreds of people I'd saved in the past year.
I didn't want to think about that answer too hard, however, because I was afraid of what it might mean.
"Despite what you keep saying, Sera, I don't hate you," I said. "And like I said... I forgive you."
"You can forgive someone their trespasses and still dislike them as a person. Why the sudden change in heart?" I raised an eyebrow at yet another bold question. Yeah, she was definitely sober now. She pushed the issue further. "You've never liked me much. And then you told me, that day in class, that you wanted me to shut my fucking mouth and leave you alone. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me ever again."
"I remember what I said." I didn't feel like getting into that argument. I walked away, heading to the kitchen to make some coffee. I had a feeling we'd need it. "And forget it. It's not relevant right now. Go get warm."
She nodded, retreating back in the hallway.
xxxxx
"Can you tell me your full name?"
Sera, who had managed to look much more alive and not like a soggy corpse by the time Dr. Davidson arrived, nodded solemnly. She'd showered, washed and dried her hair, dressed in fresh clothes, and drank a bit of water. Thankfully, all this had returned some pallor to her complexion.
"Sera Marie Slone," she answered. She wiped her hands on her robe, the only outward indication that she was nervous. Though I trusted Dr. Davidson, I knew we had to play this just right.
I hadn't had much to give her to wear – in the back of my underwear drawer, I'd found an old pair of ladies' cotton shorts, pink with green stripes – they'd been a part of Candy's spare pajamas, from back in the days when she regularly slept in my bed. They were small, but were pretty much the only option for bottom halves that I had. I'd found one of my older, smaller t-shirts to use as a top, so that wasn't a problem. I'd also given her one of my large robes, which completely drowned her, but helped keep her warm.
"Can you tell me the date?" Dr. Davidson asked. He was all business, despite looking a little bleary-eyed behind his black-rimmed glasses. His hair had gone completely white since I'd last seen him, and I could pick out a whole new set of lines and wrinkles around his brows and jowls. How long has it been? I wondered. Where has the time gone?
"February 9, 2007," she answered. Then she gave him a sweet smile. "Though it is after midnight now... so technically it's February 10, I suppose."
He nodded. "I'm going to check your pupils," he said, holding up a small flashlight. He held up one finger with his other hand. "Focus on my finger. Follow it with your eyes."
I silently retreated into the kitchen to grab the three of us some of the coffee I'd made. Dr. Davidson had been less than thrilled when I'd called – no surprise, considering it was 2:30 in the morning – but he had agreed to come out when I'd explained that one, my poor female friend was injured but couldn't afford to go to the ER, and two, I'd wanted to keep things as low-key as possible. I let him assume that she'd been with me all night drinking, as that seemed a pretty believable story. Thankfully, he seemed pretty cavalier about her injuries, assuring us first that she needed no stitches and that the bump on her head was purely superficial.
I grabbed three mugs and walked back into the den, wiggling my shoulders uncomfortably. I'd had to do a rush wrap job to get the wings back under control before he arrived, and I'd not done such a stellar job. The bandage was pulling on one of the lead feathers, and it hurt in the same annoying way a single hair hurts when it's snagged. But no matter how I squirmed, I couldn't get it unstuck.
"Can you tell me what happened, Sera?" Dr. Davidson asked. He lifted up her chin, moving her head all around, though I couldn't tell what he was looking for.
"I... I fell," she answered simply. "There were these stairs outside the club, and I don't know what happened, I guess I slipped..." She pointed to her scraped-up legs. "I was wearing a skirt, and I banged my knees on the way down..."
"And your head," I interjected. We'd agreed to concoct a story involving a fall on some concrete stairs, near a railing – we figured those components would at least explain her various scrapes, cuts and bruises. "I heard the thump. Scared me half to death." I held out the mugs. "Coffee?"
The doctor held up a flat palm. "No thanks, son. If I had any now I'd be up for the rest of the night. Or day, as it were." Sera, however, accepted a mug and held it in her hands for warmth. Dr. Davidson turned to her. "Any dizziness? Disorientation? Nausea?"
"No, not now. I was a little confused right after it happened... but I was also a little, um, intoxicated. I feel okay now." She glanced over at me, taking a tiny sip from the mug.
He rose to his feet, pulling out a pad and scribbling something on it. "I don't believe you have a concussion, Sera, but if you feel any of those symptoms in the next few days, you'll need to go a hospital and have one of the docs check you out. In the meantime, I'm giving you a script for some extra-strength ibuprofen. I imagine you're going to be pretty sore in the morning. It'll help with the muscle aches."
"Thanks," she said softly, taking the slip of paper from his hands.
"Sure." He eyed me as he slipped the pad back into his black travel bag. "Warren, it was nice to see you, but I have to say I hope to see you in my office sometime soon. You haven't been in for a check-up in years. I thought you'd dropped off the face of the earth." He smiled, his mustache broadening into a thick, straight line, like a stiff white comb. "It's prudent for people – even young people like you folks – to get a physical exam every year."
"I know," I said. "And I will, soon..." Lie.
I walked him to the door and wrote him a check for his troubles. When I came back into the den, Sera hadn't moved. She still held the mug, her head tilted as if in thought. She looked up as I walked in.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"Does what hurt?"
She set the mug on a coaster and held her arms out to the side, hesitant. Her face blushed as she slowly flapped them up and down, like wings, before drawing them in behind her back. "Your wings, when you bind them. It seems like it would be uncomfortable."
"It is," I answered shortly.
"What do you hold them down with?"
"Bandages," I said.
"Like... athlete's tape?" She looked horrified at that, and I had to smile. Sticky tape on feathers? Not such a good idea.
"No. Like Ace bandages. The reusable ones."
She nodded, processing that. "That must be hard to wrap around yourself," she said. "Wouldn't they stretch out?"
"Yeah, and yeah. I usually have to throw them away after a few uses." God, it felt strange to talk to someone about my secret life – to let her in on the little issues and idiosyncracies of being a mutant superhero.
"When did it happen?" She sat up a little straighter, that familiar, curious look on her face. It was the same way she'd looked when we had discussed mutants months ago, after she'd been saved by the man with the claws. Not judging, not disgusted, just... curious. "When did they grow in?"
"I don't... I don't think we should get into this. Not tonight," I said. I felt uneasy and a little vulnerable, to be honest. And the fact that I was kind of enjoying this unheard-of type of open conversation bothered me. Maybe I had made a mistake. I shouldn't have brought her home. She already knows too much, and this is definitely not helping matters.
Or... was it? As I'd said, it was strange to be casually talking about my wings, but it also felt... good. Freeing. A release of pent-up pressure, like air from an overinflated tire.
"No?" she asked, and I was relieved that the old, strong-willed Sera had come back. I didn't like seeing her as a whimpering, trembling mess. "Are you sending me home, or can I ask again tomorrow?"
"You're awfully cheeky, considering you almost died two hours ago," I said pointedly. "Enough. You can stay here. There's an extra bedroom down the hall, next to the bathroom. Go to bed, Sera."
She leaned against the ball of the couch, looking down the dark hallway. "You're letting me stay here?"
"Well, you could always call Jonathan to pick you up," I said. "In fact, I'll lend you my phone, if you have his number memorized. That would be good for a laugh."
She set her jaw, not amused. I shrugged. "I figured you wouldn't ride in another cab, and it's not safe for you to take the subway this late. And frankly, I'm too tired to take you home, either driving or flying."
She nodded, not meeting my eyes. "You're probably right," she said. "Okay. Thanks."
"Stop thanking me."
"Sorry... it's a force of habit, you know, from all the other times I've had my life saved." She stood up and stretched, then grimaced. "Oh, sweet Jehovah, my back... I see why he gave me a prescription for some painkillers now..." She looked up at me, disbelief etched across her face. "How do you do this every night, Warren?"
"For starters, I wasn't trapped inside a crumpled car thrown half a mile into the freezing river," I said. "And secondly, I don't do it every night."
"Right... so I'll see you in the morning?" She straightened up, sliding out of the robe I'd given her. Candy had been a tall, thin girl with a lingerie model's body – tiny waist, slender but rounded hips and thighs, impressive rack. Sera barely fit into her old shorts, the material tight and taut against her more considerable curves. I swallowed, wondering why I found it so appealing.
"Yeah," I said casually. I headed for my suite upstairs, and she limped out of the room towards the hallway. I hated myself for doing it, but I stopped halfway up the steps, turning around to watch her leave the room. She never wore tight clothes, she was far too conservative for that, but damn if they didn't look good on her, hugging her hips and ass in all the right places...
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, running into the bathroom and turning on the faucet. I splashed some cold water on my face. "What the hell am I doing?"