The mansion loomed in the distance like a secretive sentinel, a Gothic titan nestled on the edge of a cliff a couple of miles outside of Salem Center.
With a mixture of awe and pride, Warren Wing - under his public moniker of Angel - circled languidly in the sky. Promising himself he would never grow tired of his approach to his second home. The place filled with misfits he was lucky to call family, after much of his life had been consumed by loneliness, estrangement and shame. The X-Jet's engines hummed a tune in his ear, and he allowed the wind to caress his face.
The few strands of blond hair resting on his forehead over his iconic blue mask danced around his brow. The Pacific Ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and seaweed, clearing some of the clutter that clogged his mind.
He swooped low, gliding towards the mansion's front lawn. As he landed, the ground kicked up dust crystals in the wind. Throwing a smoldering glance in the security cameras' direction, Angel walked up to the colossal doors and let himself in.
As the doors groaned shut behind him, he headed towards the Danger Room. Locating Betsy, aka Psylocke, hunched over her katana, her emerald suit shimmering as wisps of telekinetic energy stirred around her fingertips.
"God, I hate these," Betsy grumbled, narrowing her eyes at the weapon in her hands, her gaze lingering over the blade. "I provoke danger more often then not. It doesn't sit well with me.
I don't know if I will ever get used to them," Betsy complained, despite her seemingly natural elegance and finely honed combat skills.
Warren leaned against the wall, folding his arms. "I suppose when something cuts deeper, a blade just makes it easier to face down," he said, attempting to echo the subtle depth he heard in the voice of Charles Xavier when he gave life advice.
The two gazed at each other for a fleeting moment, as if their locks intertwined.
But, the intensity of their connection didn't need no physical manifestation.
"I can't argue with that," Betsy murmured, her voice betraying a wistful note. She shifted her attention back to her katana. "Still, I want my own style - to find the balance between who I was and who I am now."
Warren unhooked his arms from his torso and took a tentative step forward, drawn to Betsy like a magnet. "I know the feeling," he confided, keeping his voice hushed.
"It's like you have this gnawing force in your core that's trying to pull you apart. It's exhausting."
Betsy finally looked up, her deep-set amethyst eyes locking with Warren's cerulean ones, as if they were color-correcting filters for each other's souls.
"But somehow," she whispered, pursing her lips. "You manage - day by day, tirelessly fighting to keep your sanity intact."
The sincerity in her gaze warmed Angel the way the morning sun embraced his feathers.
He swallowed hard, thinking of the implications. Betsy truly had a knack for helping him, pushing him to think deeply about himself. The notion should've sparked fear, but instead, he felt a tingling sensation in his chest.
"I guess we both do," he replied softly as the air grew thick with emotions and innuendos flowing between them. Warren couldn't help but notice the slight tremble of Betsy's lips, and he desperately wanted to taste them. He imagined their intertwined bodies, but his doubts lingered.
He feared the consequences of crossing the line with someone whose acceptance he craved dearly. Additionally, his worries about rejection never fully dissipated.
They were so caught up in the moment they didn't even hear Wolverine telling them to get on the blackbird "The Blackbird's waiting, you two," Wolverine grumbled, leveraging both hands on his hips, exposing the sharp lines of his adamantium throughout his forearms. He sighed, obviously unimpressed by their show of affection.
Startled, Betsy jumped back, creating a ripple in the air that blew her raven hair back and obscured her eyes. Regaining her composure, she swiftly sheathed her katana.
With cheeks flushed, she sauntered past Logan, throwing a flirtatious giggle over her shoulder. Optimistic about the X-Men's future adventures, she brushed her gloved hands in anticipation.
Warren exhaled a lengthy sigh, attempting to shake himself free of the lingering spell that Betsy's presence had cast upon him.
"About time you two showed up," Logan bellowed, as the rest of the tenured members of the X-Men assembled inside the X-Jet's cabin.
"We ain't got all day, kiddo."
As he joined his comrades, he couldn't help but steal a final glance back at her, enraptured by the rhythmic pulse of energy that coiled around her like a mysterious aura.
He slid into the seat beside Rogue, her unruly auburn hair cascading around her petite frame. Her deep green eyes met his, and he gave her a weary acceptance as warped whispers of her past love life emanated through his mind.
Logan's grizzled voice tore through the exchange, "Everybody sit down and shut up.
We got a job to do."
The X-Jet soared through the skies, water particles from the ocean clouds forming a veil that shrouded the sleek jet from detection.
It was a simple mission at best the Brotherhood just going on there usual rampage said Xavier but Warren couldn't help feel anxious of the unknown everyone was.
As Warren gazed through the window into the abyss beyond, the memories of his past, those where he was nothing but a pampered playboy by day, and a vigilant X-Man by night, came rushing back.
They landed at their destination, the X-Jet descending through an abandoned industrial area with ominous buildings, metal rails, and rusted oil barrels. These sights only amplified the ominous, decrepit air.
Logan stepped out of the aircraft, the ground shaking beneath his booted feet. He stretched his neck, his cape flowing out like a shadowy specter before the muted sun. In the muted light, the X-Men disembarked, their powers barely contained, humming just under their skin.
Every thing was going good Cyclops was taking down Blob , Jean and Rogue had Toad cornered , Storm ; Quicksilver and of course Wolverine were up to their usual antics.
However, in the midst of the chaos, Warren didn't see the attack coming from Scarlett Witch.
With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a flurry of chaos magic that knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling to the ground. His wings crumpled around him, pain ripping through his muscles, tendons, and bones.
Betsy was quick to react, sensing Warren's distress. With a graceful leap, she launched herself towards the enemy, her fiery katana slicing through the air with expert precision.
As she took out Scarlett Witch with a perfectly timed strike, but she notice notice Sabretooth quickly running to Warren.
Her eyes widened, she threw all her strength to hurl her katana with unbelievable speed.
The steel projectile grazed Sabretooth's cheek, leaving a narrow, bloody line, but it was enough to divert his attention to her. Betsy wasted no time standing her ground as she prepared for an imminent onslaught.
"Psylocke! Get out of here!" Warren yelled, finding his voice amidst his own grimaces of pain.
However, his words fell on deaf ears. As Betsy tries her best to fight off Sabretooth. " I can't leave you Angel ..Run ". she yelled back, her voice barely audible amongst the chaos of battle.
Warren's heart swelled with a complex mixture of admiration and sheer dread as he attempted to push himself up from the asphalt, his wings protesting with a violent ache.
He had been through countless battles before, but this particular assault left a gaping vulnerability inside of him, particularly with regards to the newfound feelings he had discovered for Betsy.
In a flash Sabretooth quickly lashed at Psylocke causing her to fall. He tried to go after Warren but she used all her might to keep him away.
She knew she wasn't as strong as Sabretooth but she had to protect Warren at all cost.
In that moment, a surge of primal instinct coursed through her veins. She lashed out, striking Sabretooth with a jab of telekinetic energy. It was a futile attempt, but the realization of her sheer determination and the selflessness of her actions struck Warren like a lightning bolt.
His heart missed a beat. Betsy had willingly put herself on the line for him, despite the overwhelming odds. In that moment, something deep within him shifted. Guilt ran over him.
As an X-Men member, he had unknowingly endangered those he cared for the most. This newfound knowledge stung him, tightening the cold cement around his heart.
He watched as she struggled with Sabretooth; her panting echoed in his amplified ears, her emerald suit stained with dirt and sweat. She was close to losing the fight.
Wolverine step in taking Sabretooth on letting Jean and Storm helped Angel and Psylocke back to the Blackbird
Warren, guilt and self-disgust clawing at his insides as Betsy leaned her weight against him, visibly worn down from the altercation with Sabretooth.
"I told you to run" she murmured, flashing him a faint smile. Despite her injuries, she unconsciously clutched his hand, sending warmth surging through his weary limbs.
That single touch twisted his stomach in knots as he returned the gesture with a squeeze.
Unspoken words of gratitude and an almost smoldering hunger lingered in the small space between them. Warren gently guided Betsy to an empty medical bed in the Blackbird's medical bay, their shoulders barely brushing against one another.
The X-Men's resident physician, Hank McCoy (Beast), greeted them with a clipboard in his hand. He glanced over Betsy, concern etched on his furry, intelligent face.
"What have we here? Who dares to hurt our precious Psylocke?" The Beast probed gently, concern flavoring each of his words.
Betsy, trying to mask the pain in her eyes, offered a weak smile and glanced towards Warren. She opened her mouth to speak, but winced, overwhelmed by the lingering ache in her body.
Warren cleared his throat, stepping forward. He felt Betsy's gaze bore into his soul, asking silent questions without uttering a word.
He heaved a trembling sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, knowing very well that he needed to be the one to fill the silence.
"She's had a rough time dealing with Sabretooth," Warren murmured sheepishly, only partially answering Beast's question. His wide, sapphire eyes darted to every corner of the med bay, avoiding direct eye contact with the Beast or Betsy.
Suddenly stammering, he admitted, "I didn't expect things to escalate as quickly as they did. She...she saved me." His voice dwindled as his thoughts traveled back to the very scene. His subconscious screamed with an almost undeniable need to confide in her, and in a blink of an eye, he finally mustered up the courage to face her gentle, inquisitive gaze.
"I didn't mean to get you hurt," Warren whispered in a fraction of a breath as an electric tension hung in the clinic, cloaked by silence except for the soft beeping of the medical equipment surrounding them. No one else seemed to matter – just Warren and Betsy.
Beast quietly excused himself, his heavy footsteps echoing on the metallic floor until they disappeared entirely, leaving the two survivors of the heated battle alone among the hum and beep of the machines.
Warren stood frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away from the intense stare transcending between the two of them. Blaming himself for Betsy injuries
Warren silently sat in the corner of the medical bay while Beast hurried around her, administering care with an expertise so inherent. Locked in a silent soliloquy of guilt, he replayed the battle's crucial moments over and over again, chiding himself for underestimating the volatile nature of Sabretooth and neglecting Betsy's vulnerable proximity
Betsy eventually stirred from her bed, throwing a separate glance Warren's way.
She offered him a weary, yet warm, ghost of a smile. It served as an assurance that his genuine remorse for her pain wasn't entirely unfounded.
She motioned him closer, her voice barely more than a hesitant whisper. "You've got to stop blaming yourself, Warren, I wanted to be there for you."
Betsy's voice was like a soft, gentle breeze, flowing seamlessly over the loud hum of the medical machines.
Warren hesitantly made his way towards her bed, still wrestling with the weight of guilt obscuring his thoughts. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Betsy," his whispered confession, suspended in midair, weighed heavily, but purifying like a lingering fog on a menacing morning.
The vulnerability etched in his gaze was proof that he needed human connection, and Betsy was increasingly becoming the light in his storm.
Betsy's gaze didn't waver as she battled the pain that still held her captive. "Mutant and human alike make mistakes, Warren. We're not impenetrable gods - we just do our best, like everyone else."
The intimate silence stretched on, the gravity of their connection heavier than ever.
The secret unspoken words floating between them evoked and heightened the almost ethereal energy buzzing in the room. Only X-Men members could truly understand the magnitude of experiencing the special bond that transcended language, bound by the uncharted realities of their individual abilities and wholly unique lives.