Broken Wings

by Tangerine

"Warren, Candy, it is wonderful to see you both again," Jean Grey-Summers called from the doorway, waving. Scott stood beside her with their two month old daughter, Rachel, sound asleep in his arms. The redheaded baby was not at all startled by Jean's overzealous calls.

"Jean, Scott, it's been too long," Warren replied, kissing Jean on the cheek and shaking hands with Scott. Candy did the same. The wealthiest couple in the country, they had been together for five years and married for three. Candy with her dark, loose curls and amazing brown eyes, and Warren's stunning shoulder length blond hair and ice-blue eyes also made them one of the most beautiful. Outwardly they appeared to be happy, but Jean could feel deeper feelings being passed between the two. Jean was also bothered by the fact Warren's wings were tightly tied down under his clothes. He didn't usually do that. "Is that Rachel? She looks just like you, Jean, she's beautiful."

"Charmer." Jean smiled and slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "Your old room's all ready if you want to put your stuff up there."

"I'll do it, Warren. I would like to rest after the long trip."

"Of course, Candy," Warren answered, "I'll see you later." Candy said nothing and marched up to the room she knew that was Warren's. Warren turned back to Jean and Scott. "Have you heard from Hank and Trish recently?"

"Unfortunately, no, too bad, too. I've been dying to see the little one," Jean said, combing back her red hair with her fingers.

"We got together a week or two ago. Alexander is taking after Hank more and more each day. He's only six months and already walking. It's amazing," Warren laughed, his blue eyes hiding deeper sadness.

"If you'll excuse me, I think I'll put Rachel down. It really is good to see you again." Scott walked off leaving the two friends alone together.

"Warren? There's something going on, isn't there, between you and Candy? It is it anything you want to talk about?"

"We're just having a little tiff right now. It's nothing to be worried about. It happens when you're married. We're dealing with it." The way Warren said it, made Jean pause. It seemed to go further than that, but she let it go.

"I'm sorry things are troubled."

"Don't feel bad about me, Jean. It happens," Warren replied and shrugged. "Though, I must admit, I am rather envious of you and Scott. I have never seen you happier." They walked in silence for a while until they came across one of the newest X-Men, an X-Man that Warren was unfamiliar with. He had been out of the loop for a while, and while he had been wed to Candy and refraining from the superhero gig at her request, he had not made it a priority to know his fellow heros.

But now, he was debating on whether or not to rejoin. His life was going nowhere, and he had been truly happy when he was an X-Men. When Hank, Bobby and Jean had formed the team of X-Factor and not even bothered to call him, Warren had felt some level of hurt. He thought they should have at least extended him the courtesy and asked, but instead they took his answer as no. It probably would have been.

So as he watched this beautiful woman exercising in the morning sun and using her extraordinary abilities, he realised what he had been missing. The woman, with her lustrous, flowing purple hair, twisted and arched through the air with elegant grace. She landed lightly, and she looked at the two of them. Warren noticed at this point she was of Asian descent. Her eyes were what held his attention. Purple eyes, studying him like a hawk.

"Elisabeth, I believe you have not met Warren Worthington, also known to his friends as the high-flying Angel," Jean called out as Elisabeth moved towards them, sliding her katana back into its sheath. "Warren, this is Elisabeth Braddock, or Psylocke."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Braddock," Warren said taking her hand and kissing it gently as a gentleman would in the presence of such a lovely, aristocratic lady. She had the air the rich held around them, proud and reeking importance.

"And you, Mr. Worthington," she replied in a soft British accent, not at all what Warren was expecting. "Are you the same Worthington of the proclaimed Worthington Enterprises?"

"One and the same. You know of it?"

"My brother is an overseas correspondent of your company. He had spoken quite highly of it. It is a honour to meet you then, as my brother does not often speak so highly of people," Elisabeth added in her melodic voice.

"Ah, then am I to assume we are talking about Braddock Enterprises? And your brother is Dr. Brian Braddock? He is a very honourable and respectable man, Ms. Braddock. If you are anything like your brother is, I am sure we will get along wonderfully." Warren smiled, reflecting upon the sadness in this angel's eyes. She nodded before turning away and walking towards the mansion, making no sound to disturb the tranquil silence.

"Incredible," Jean hummed, "she hasn't said that much to anybody since I've known her, at least not that freely. She is usually more subdued than that. It is quite the pity, though. From what the others have told me, before her emergence from the Siege Perilous, she was happy."

"What happened?" Warren asked, wanting to know more about her.

"The X-Men were in trouble and she used her telepathic powers to persuade them to travel through a portal given to her by the adversary, Roma. When she was found by Wolverine, she was suddenly an assassin working for the Mandarin in Japan. She has been somewhat reserved since then, never having given us an explanation of her transformation." Jean sighed deeply. "I sometimes wonder if any of us are meant to truly be content in our lives."

"You and Scott look to be happy, as are Hank and Trish. Though not all of us are that lucky right now, does not mean someday it will not be so." Warren smiled. "You must be patient, Jean, there is a silver lining behind every cloud."

"When did you become such a philosopher, Warren?" Jean asked sarcastically with a toothy smile.

"Perhaps since my life had taken such a turn for the worst." Warren looked up to the mansion where he caught a glimpse of a woman in the window. At first he thought it might be Candy, but the flash of purple was unmistakable.

'She's watching me,' he thought as the woman disappeared, 'whatever for? But then I must admit, there is something about her that fascinates me.'

"Well, Mrs. Summers, we should make our way back. According to my clock, it is almost time for dinner. And I'm sure Candy will be waiting for me. She will be . . . angry if I make her wait too long."

Jean's head shot up. There was something about the way he said angry that did not sit well with her.

* * *

"Where have you been?" Candy demanded loudly.

"Just walking with Jean. It was nothing but an old chat between friends," Warren replied, taking off his tie to change shirts. "That's all."

"Are you sure of that, Warren?" She placed emphasis on his name like she always did when she was angry. "I saw you out there, talking to that woman, Warren. Don't deny it because I saw you."

"Jean introduced me to her, Candy, because I didn't know her. She's relatively new to the X-Men. I don't know what you think you saw, but it wasn't like that. There's nothing going on here, Candy, I don't see why you're so upset."

"No? You don't? Warren, I've seen you looking at other women. What is it? Am I not good enough for you?" She snapped, doing up her skirt. Warren winced, knowing he had made her angry, again.

"Of course you're good enough for me, Candy, you're more than I could ever want. It's me who is not worthy of you, my love," Warren said, knowing what she wanted to hear. He had become quite masterful at playing her games.

"And don't you forget it, Warren. Most humans wouldn't have anything to do with muties. Be glad I'm not like them, darling," Candy reminded him again. That was always her reasoning, but he heard how she called mutants 'muties'. He paid it no mind.

Candy's expression softened. "Your tie's on crooked, love. Let me fix it." She adjusted his tie, the complete opposite of how she had been. Warren always marvelled at the radical mood changes. He felt that deep down, she truly did love him, so he was always able to forgive her, no matter how cruel she could become.

* * *

The sound of silverware clinked and chimed against the expensive ceramic plates. Scott sat at the head of the table, with the Professor at the other end. Warren sat beside Jean, with Candy on the other side, and a Cajun X-Man by the name of Gambit beside her. Beside Gambit sat the mutant he knew as Rogue. Across from Rogue, sat another foreign mutant, Bishop. Storm sat beside him with Elisabeth beside her, across from Warren, and Iceman finishing off the end. Wolverine was away on a visit with Jubilee at Massachusetts. Rachel sat in a babyseat, sleeping on the floor beside Scott and Jean.

Jean watched as Warren mumbled something to Candy under his breath. Jean did not catch it, but the look on Candy's face spoke volumes. Whatever it was, she did not agree. Jean was still bothered by the fact Warren continued to wear his harness. Among his friends, he usually would have taken it off. She knew how much he despised the thing.

Rachel let out a small cry, distracting Jean from pondering the idea further. Jean bent over and picked her baby up.

"So when are we going to add another little one to the X-Men bunch, Warren?" Scott asked. Warren looked uncomfortable, and glanced at Candy, whose face betrayed nothing.

"We will not be having any children, Scott," Candy said coldly.

"Yes, it is for the best," Warren chimed in, though it was not the exact truth. He had wanted children; she had not. Her reason: it was better not to risk having a mutant child and endangering its life. She had decided it would be best for him to have a vasectomy and totally eliminate the possibility. He still resented her for that little brainchild.

"That's too bad," Scott replied, feeling embarrassed for even asking.

"We have accepted it. It was hard when we received the news," she lied, getting a glance from Warren. She ignored it and continued, "that Warren couldn't have children. He is incapable of it. I suppose we could adopt, but he was so embarrassed about the whole ordeal. It is better we don't."

The table was uncomfortably quiet. They stared at Warren, who had been shocked into silence. How could she humiliate him like this? She knew the truth, so why lie to his friends?

"If you'll excuse us for a second," Warren growled under his breath and grabbed Candy roughly by the arm. She said nothing, but the corners of her mouth curved slightly upwards. He dragged her into the hall.

"Why did you say that?" He hissed quietly through the darkness, attempting to control the mortifying anger rising in the pit of his stomach.

"It's the truth, isn't it? You're not all the man you should be, Warren baby," Candy replied with a smirk, but her tone betrayed her anger at his seemingly irrational behaviour.

"You were the one who decided it was better if I didn't. You humiliated me back there, Candy," Warren confessed quietly, refusing to meet her patronising glare.

"Did I? I'm sorry, honey. I would never want to hurt you prewious wittle feelings, Warren baby," she said in a taunting, babyish voice. It was like a vicious slap in the face.

"You bitch," he started then stopped abruptly, stepping away from his furious wife as he realised the line he had crossed was too far a step. Candy slapped him across the face, and in the dining room, everyone stopped in their tracks.

"How dare you call me that, you freak?! After everything I've done for you, you treat me like this? You're pathetic, Warren, sometimes I wonder why I even married you!" She screamed, well heard by the others, though they tried to ignore it. "The only thing you were ever good for was sex, and now even that's no good. You're useless, Warren, utterly useless!"

Warren stepped back, not believing what she was saying. She slapped him again, harder than the first time. She turned on her heel and walked defiantly away, once again leaving him nothing to say. Jean stepped out into the hall and grabbed Warren by the arm. She brought him outside onto the Veranda. She sat him down in a chair and glared at him.

"How long has this been going on?" She demanded, her face aflame in anger.

"What?" He asked innocently, looking down to the ground. "She just got a little upset. I said something I shouldn't have, so she was angered. It was my fault really. I deserved it."

Jean paced, not believing what she was hearing. It was unfathomable that Warren couldn't see what Candy was doing. She was manipulating him, making him think it was his shortcoming that brought the attack.

"You did not deserve that, Warren. I did not mean to eavesdrop, but the conversation was rather hard to block out. She humiliated you, Warren, you had every right to be upset with her, but what she did to you has no excuse at all," Jean said forcefully, looking to Warren to see if any of her words were having an affect on him. He stared blankly at her, reacting to nothing she spoke.

"I called her a bitch, that was uncalled for. It was my fault, and I shouldn't have done it," Warren repeated his sentiments. "I often do stupid things. I sometimes wonder how she puts up with me."

"Warren, this isn't you talking!"

"She doesn't usually do that, Jean. I don't see why you're getting so upset. I'm fine with it," Warren added, trying to lower her anger level. Jean looked to him with a strange look in her eyes. "Please, Jean, don't make a big deal about it, please," he pleaded, "please, please, don't. She made a mistake, that's all. She never means it. She's just tired. We've been busy," he made up excuses to try and dissuade Jean. "It's nothing."

* * *

Warren woke up early and slid out of bed, meticulously careful not to wake Candy. She hated when he did that, so he was always extra careful not to disturb her. After he had returned to the room, he had proved to her there was still some magic between them, and to anger her again would offset everything he accomplished last night.

He looked to the harness that was still wrapped around his chest. Candy had told him to keep it on. She didn't like it when he left his wings free when they made love. She said they got in the way. She used to like his wings, to love the feel of them against her skin, but one day, she simply changed her mind, seeing them as repulsive growths, and he could see why she'd make such a claim. They were beginning to disgust him.

He pulled on a shirt and pants and slipped his feet into some shoes, not bothering with socks. He trudged through the familiar halls. They did not change, and he took slight comfort in that familiarity, but it was as if he had changed too much to be accepted by them now. He did not feel at home in this house anymore.

He walked out onto the veranda with a cup of coffee warm in his hands. He loved early morning when nobody was awake, save him. The sounds always excited him, and the smells danced upon his senses. Candy had chided him for being silly, but he knew there was something special about morning. It was a chance to start anew, to begin again, to repair any mistakes of the previous day, to forgive. He loved morning.

He trudged across the damp grass, kicking off his shoes a few metres out. He moved further out to the field he loved the most. In his opinion, it was the most beautiful part of the whole property. The apple trees, especially when blossoming in spring as they were now, were so serene and untouched in their beauty it hurt to look at them and devalue their worth. He used to go there when he was young to clear his mind, and he was hoping they'd help him again. He was so confused about his life, he had lost track of the Angel he used to be in a more innocent time. He had been tainted and could not cleanse himself.

He chuckled slightly, realising suddenly how old he felt. He was barely twenty-seven, yet he felt eons older, and as he neared the precious field from his lost youth, a familiar sight was seen by his keen eyes.

Psylocke stood, battle ready and in costume, crouched low to the earth with her katana swinging soundlessly through the air. The pink ribbons on her suit blew in the slight morning breeze, and she didn't seem to acknowledge his presence. Instead, she moved more graceful still, fighting the invisible foe.

He watched in awe, remembering when he used to fly with such ease. Flying was too much of a chore in the city, and Candy always insisted they take the car. She hated flying, hated flying with him, and now, so did he.

Warren sat against the oldest of the trees, the one he had chosen so long ago as his favourite. He was once again struck with Psylocke's unearthly beauty, taking slight notice at her costume. In his day, women had not been quite so . . . daring with their choices, but Elisabeth carried the look off confidently. Not many people could have been able to do that.

"Are you impressed?' She asked, suddenly breaking the silence. Warren jumped slightly, then realised he was staring. Elisabeth never stopped moving. "People don't usually watch me with so much dedicated attention."

"I'm sorry. I'll go," he mumbled, beginning to stand.

"Don't leave on my account, Mr. Worthington. I rather like the attention," she said from her stance. She turned her head to look at him. "The others don't usually come out here. I think sometimes I scare them. Then again, why shouldn't I?" She laughed lightly. "I often scare myself."

"Please call me Warren. Mr. Worthington was my father's name. It makes me feel old," Warren joked playfully, his true nature emerging from behind the clouds of self loathing and hate, for he used to be quite the flirt in his day.

"If you'll call me Betsy," she retorted with a smile, sheathing her weapon.

"Agreed, then, Betsy," he laughed as she walked over to him. She sat down beside him, crossing her long legs. Warren guessed her to be at least five foot ten, if not five foot eleven. She was very close in height to him, but far more eloquent and graceful than he'd ever be. "What part of England do you come from?"

"A small, rural town outside of Manchester. You wouldn't have heard of it," she replied, watching two birds that had set down on the lawn and were playing with unmistakable glee. "It's amazing, isn't it? Those birds don't have a care in the world, oblivious to the fact we're even here. I would love to have that sense of freedom."

"And you don't?" He asked, watching them as well as he fought down the yearning to fly he felt. It was a feeling of great loss, but he knew how inane it was to wish for something he couldn't have. Warren looked to Betsy, trying to read what she was feeling, and Betsy's head lowered as her face hardened.

"No, I do not," she answered coldly. "I don't know what you may have heard about me, but I am not what I seem."

"Not many of us are."

"Warren?" A familiar voice cut through the peace. "Are you out here?"

"Candy!" Warren jumped up and turned to look at Betsy, but she was already gone. Warren felt an odd sense of relief come over him. He walked over to Candy, already apologetic and quiet. Whatever he felt around Betsy was gone now. He was himself once again, yet there was some part of him that had left with her.

"You're late for breakfast, Warren, you're holding everybody up," Candy said sternly, "Jean made you a wonderful breakfast, and you don't even have the decency to show up? I swear, Warren, sometimes I wonder about you. How can you be so stupid?" Warren didn't respond to her accusations. His mind was elsewhere this moment.

* * *

"Warren, we were wondering if you'd like to join us in the Danger Room for a session this morning," Jean said as she served the eggs with a spatula, smiling at the cooing Rachel. Warren opened his mouth to respond, but Candy cut him off before a single word could be uttered.

"That is not necessary," she said with a vile tone towards Jean, "we were planning on going out today. I have some friends I'd like to see. Warren is coming with me."

"It is this his decision?' Jean asked, noting the surprised expression on Warren's face. "He doesn't look like he agrees with this idea of yours, Candy."

"Jean, I think I know my husband better than you do," Candy snapped angrily and stood up, "he will do what I say we will do. He owes this to me, and he knows it."

"Warren? Is this something you want to do?" Jean asked, bringing the conversation to him. He looked to both of them and pondered his answer. Candy's face became even more angry as Warren realised he waited too long with a response. She slammed the fork in her hand down on the table and marched down the hall. Warren stood up quickly to follow her.

"You said you wouldn't interfere, Jean," Warren said loudly, accusingly. The rest of the table remained awkwardly silent. "You promised me, and now Candy's angry at me. This is your fault, Jean." He turned and ran after his wife. Jean glared at him as he left, wondering when he had become so blind to the truth.

* * *

"You didn't even have the decency to stand up and fight for me, Warren," Candy said in an upset tone, looking upon him in exasperation. "These are your friends, Warren. I only agreed to come because I know how much it meant to you. If you didn't want to go with me, you could have just said something."

"I'm sorry, Candy. I was stupid," Warren said, reaching out to her. "I should have helped you, and I do want to go, really, and I should have told you that right away. I'm sorry."

"Yes, you should have," she snapped. She lowered her head then cocked it to the right. "I know there's something going on between you and Jean, Warren. I've seen the way you look at her. You want her instead of me, don't you?"

"No, I love you," Warren replied sincerely. "Jean is my best friend, Candy, she has been for years. She's married to Scott. I only have eyes for you, my love."

"So you say, but why do I have such a hard time believing you, Warren?" Candy demanded, turning to him, and Warren couldn't understand what he had done to make her angry this time. "Are you screwing her behind my back, Warren?" The emphasis on his name made him shudder.

"No, of course not, Candy!" He knew that he would never do anything like that, but he knew Candy would, and Warren knew something Candy did not think he knew. He had accidentally walked in on her and his Vice-President, Victor Learier, a few weeks ago. She had not seen him, but he was shocked, and hurt. He had not mentioned it before for he had refused to acknowledge it, the fact she would turn from him to another man for love. It was too painful to remember what he had seen. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Yes, you would, Warren, because that's the type of person you are. You'd cheat on me at the first chance you got," she told him, nearing him like a predator. Warren stepped back, but now he was getting angry, too. She had no right to accuse him of phantom acts when she knew he had no life without her.

"No, Candy, that's the type of person you are! I saw you with him," Warren confessed, turning away in disgust, "last week, I came home early and found you in bed with Victor. Don't deny it because I saw you entwined on our bed!"

"Are you trying to say I'm a liar, Warren?!" Candy screamed in a voice that rang out through the mansion. "I only turned to him because of your incompetence. You drove me to him, Warren. If you had been half the man you're supposed to be . . ."

"You have no right to say that! I have never cheated on you once while we were married!" He yelled, pointing at her. She stared at his finger, and Warren thought, for one brief, insane second, she might bite it off. "How could you do that to me? Why do you treat me so badly? What did I do that was so wrong?" He pleaded with her for the answer, but Candy turned away from him then suddenly lunged at him. His reaction was sluggish, and she was on him before he even realised what she intended.

"You're a mutie, Warren. Do you know how I am treated because I am married to you? How could you do that to me?" She hissed, ripping his shirt open. She grabbed a fist full of feathers from his wings. He cried out in pain. "These stupid wings are destroying us! Why can't you see that? Are you that stupid?"

Warren stumbled to his feet, wincing at the incredible burning in his wings, slowly spreading to his back so that the anguish increased until he could bare no more. All he ever felt was pain. No joy, no happiness, just pain. It hurt so much.

"I'm not stupid. These are my wings, Candy, they're mine, and whatever you're thinking of, back off!" He shoved her away, and she hit the floor with a loud thump. "I've done everything you wanted. I've had the vasectomy; I've tied the wings down; I've sat in the corner while you ran the business; I haven't interfered with your personal affairs; I've done everything you wanted from me, but I will not do that, I won't, and you can't make me!" He screamed, stepping away from her. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him down to his knees. He tried to pull away, but she held on, twisting it painfully between her fingers, and giving up as he always did, he let her do what she wished.

"Leave him alone," Jean growled from the doorway. She had promised not to interfere, but this game had gone on long enough. The sight alone enveloped her with pity for the man she once knew as being strong and brave. To see Warren cowering on the floor, being dominated by the woman he loved with all his heart, made her soul burn in hate for Candy.

"Jean, please," Warren muttered from the floor. He had his hands wrapped around his head, trying to ease the pain he must have been feeling. Candy only twisted the long, golden hair tighter around her knuckles.

"Go away, Jean, and quit meddling in our business," Candy hissed at her with true hate. "It is none of your concern."

"It is when I see one of my best friends being abused." Jean walked over to Candy challengingly and stared at her. Jean's green eyes cut through Candy's chocolate ones as the women glared in silent battle.

"Are you accusing me of abuse, Jean?"

"Yes, Candy, I am."

"You bitch," Candy hissed through clenched teeth. "Fine, I know when I'm not wanted. Come on, Warren, we're going home. I'm sick of your freak friends." She let go of Warren's hair and Warren stood up slowly. He looked to Jean once, then to Candy. He nodded slightly and walked to the closet.

"Warren, you can't do this," Jean told him as Candy glared at her. Warren ignored Jean's heartfelt pleas, like he ignored everything Candy disagreed with. "She doesn't love you. If she loved you, she wouldn't treat you like this."

"She does love me, Jean, and I love her," Warren replied, bringing clothes out of the closet. "You heard what Candy said, go away and stop poking your nose in where it doesn't belong." Jean's face flared as she finally crossed the line she had been unwillingly to cross minutes earlier. Using her telekinetic powers, she grabbed Warren tightly with her mind and began to drag him out of the room.

"Let me go, Jean!" He howled, twisting and turning, try to break the invisible grasp. "You have no right to treat me like this!"

"No, I will not let you go, and Candy? I want you gone from this house within the next hour. Warren will not be joining you!"

There were several people in the hall, watching quietly as Jean pulled Warren telekinetically. He never stopped swearing at her, angry at the embarrassment she was submitting him to. They arrived at the infirmary, and Jean threw him on to the examining table. She was afraid she might have had to use the restraints, but Warren stayed where she had put him.

"Take off the shirt, Warren," she told him, "I thought there was something strange going on because you kept your wings tied down even though you had complained on several occasions your dislike for the harness. Now, I think I understand. Warren, if you don't do it, I will." Warren didn't move. He just sat with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Jean, though tired of being the villain in this particular situation, once again used her powers against her friend. She only prayed he would understand she was only trying to help. She ripped off the shirt and the harness with one singular thought.

"There, you've seen it," he muttered quietly, looking down to the floor in shame. His eyes were tightly shut, and he bit his lip. His arms were wrapped even tighter around his chest. Jean clenched her hands in rage and in shock. "Are you happy now?"

"What happened to them?" Jean asked in shock, looking at the once beautiful wings. There were patches of raw skin where feathers were missing, and other patches where the feathers had clumped together with blood, creating feathered knots. Where the harness lay across the wings, the skin was worn bare, and where the pinions had been torn away from his body, only mutilated and torn flesh was left instead.

"Did she do this to them?" Warren didn't answer, but his face spoke volumes. "She did, didn't she?"

"I deserved it, Jean," he whispered, shaking in the sudden cold he felt upon his weakened body. "She only did what she had to do. It's my fault."

"Stop saying that, Warren, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault!" Jean refused the urge to grab him by the shoulders and try to shake some sense into him. It would only cause him more pain, so she settled on a determined, quiet stare. He looked away, refusing to meet her glance.

"Warren," she lowered her voice and tried to calm down, "you've got to tell me, how long has the abuse been going on?"

"She's not abusing me," he snapped, meeting her eyes for one, minuscule second. "She just gets angry sometimes. I usually start it. I sometimes don't think before I say things, and she gets upset. It wouldn't happen if I wasn't so uncaring most of the time. I should pay more attention to her and less to myself. She deserves that much from me."

"How long, Warren?"

"I don't know. It's gotten progressively worse over the years. She never used to be like this, Jean, you've got to understand. Despite of all she says and does, she really does love me. I know she does."

"How? Long?"

"Two years, maybe three, I don't know," he muttered with a shrug.

"You've only been married for three years! Are you trying to tell me this has been going on from the beginning?"

"The first few months were okay. We were happy, Jean, very happy, but then something happened, and Candy got very angry at the world, at mutants," Warren whispered. "She never would have done anything if that wouldn't have happened. I should have been there to protect her, but I wasn't. It's my fault because I failed her when she needed me most."

Jean's face softened slightly as the web became more intricately weaved. That was the missing chapter in the book, the very cause of all that had happened. "What couldn't you protect her from, Warren?"

Warren's eyes clouded, and Jean thought for a moment he might shed a tear, but he merely stared at the wall, the memories washing over him. "You don't know what she looked like when I found her, bruised all over. She was bleeding. She hadn't let me go to the police, but I made sure I found a doctor to help her. They raped her because of me, because I was a mutant, and I was supposed to be the hero, but I couldn't help her. She's right to blame me. I should have been there and protected her."

Jean sighed deeply, trying to contain her anger. "Warren, that was a terrible thing that happened to her, but what she did to you, there is no excuse, do you understand? People do not hit the people they love, or call them names, or abuse them, like Candy does to you. It's not your fault."

Warren looked to her, his ice-blue eyes staring intently. "It doesn't matter anymore, Jean, you've seen to it that my marriage is over!" He cried angrily, his wings pulled close to his body. He slid off the table and began to put the harness back on.

"No," Jean grabbed his hands and he looked up at her, "you will not put that thing back on. Your wings have to be free if they are going to heal. No harness." she grabbed it out of his hands. He gave her a deadly stare. He reached for his shirt. The shirt would cover the wings. "You seem to forget I'm a telepath, Warren. No shirt either."

"You treat me like I'm incompetent, Jean," Warren accused her with a pointed finger. "Fine, if you want me to be humiliated, I'll do what you wish. Thank you, Jean, for totally destroying my life. It's something only a true friend would have done." He marched out of the room, leaving Jean with his shirt in one hand and the harness in the other.

* * *

He ran quickly through the house, terribly out of shape and wheezing, but he didn't care. He had to catch Candy before she left. He had to make Candy take him back. She couldn't leave him here, alone and lost. As he neared the door, somebody stepped out in front of him. Warren smacked into the person and fell back to the ground, swearing under his breath.

"Get out of my way!" He yelled, trying to stand again.

"Jean thought you might try this," the person answered, standing above him like the Angel of Judgement. He looked up as Psylocke smiled sadly. "And I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Warren. You have to understand, this is for your own good," she explained gently, putting her hand on his arm as he rose to a stand.

"You have no right to try and stop me. I love her!" Warren protested, but Betsy had too good a hold on his arm. He wasn't going anywhere. "And she loves me. You can't pretend you know anything about what we feel for each other."

"Does love equal pain in you mind, Warren? If you loved somebody, would you treat her like Candy treats you?" Psylocke demanded, brushing a strand of her purple hair away from her caring face. She had the other hand tightly wrapped around her katana, prepared for a battle if it came to that, but Warren could only focus on the hand she held him with.

"No," he replied in a whispered, "I wouldn't, but you don't understand what she's been through. Please, let me go, let me go to her." He stood up, but Betsy blocked him. His face distorted in anger. "I hate you all! All your preaching! I wish you'd all just leave me the hell alone! I don't need your help! If I needed help, I would have got some!" He shoved Psylocke away, and she stumbled, caught off guard by his sudden outburst.

"Warren, stop being so irrational!" She screamed after him and began running to catch up. It was not a hard task to accomplish as it was quiet obvious to her that he was out of shape. He was slow and weak, and she easily overcame him.

Jean hovered above Warren, now, staring at him. Others were there too, Bobby, Scott, the Professor, watching him, judging him. Warren stopped and looked around, hating them all. He looked as Candy walked down the stairs, luggage in her hands, escorted by Gambit. Candy looked to Warren in disgust.

"You stupid, fucking bastard," she hissed as Gambit held onto her arm tighter. She swore at him in french, and he muttered something back to her in an equally angry tone. They left the house as Jean touched down upon the ground in front of Warren. She moved her hand in a gesture of friendship, but he slapped it away.

"You've done enough damage, Jean," he snapped, then turned to stare at them all. "You had no right, no right at all, to make decisions for me. I'm a grown man! I'm not one of your stupid little X-Men anymore. I wish you all would just leave me the hell alone!" He screamed turning and running out of the house. Jean moved to follow him, but Betsy held her back.

"Leave him, he is not going anywhere. We have done enough today. Whatever happens now is up to him."

* * *

He watched the sun go down slowly, the sky being lit up with vibrant shades of red, yellow and orange. It was so beautiful, he felt like crying. He should be crying. His marriage was in shambles, his life was at a dead-end, and he no longer was half the man he used to be, but he just couldn't. There was nothing left in him.

He used to love flying through the sky at dusk. It always made him feel incredible and free, but now he no longer had the ability to fly. His wings were still there, attached to his back at his shoulder blades, but of what use were useless wings? His pinion feathers had long since been ripped out, and even if they grew back, his wings would have to heal, and how he longed now for the release flying gave him. He just wanted to soar and forget everything.

"It's not fun having broken wings, is it?" Betsy asked, sliding soundlessly up behind him. "You have to forgive them. They care too much, sometimes, for their own good. They did that to me when I first returned as this. They don't understand, I know that, but Warren, whether or not you are willing to admit it, you had a problem."

"There is no problem," he retorted, angry still at her and Jean and everybody else. Psylocke said nothing, knowing the denial stage would last and then eventually disappear, leading to a much more troubled state. She was familiar with it, but she still did not fully understand why she was reaching out to this man she had only met yesterday. Perhaps, it was because she had found a kindred soul, a person who had been through much humilation, and it had reduced him to nothing more than a stone statute in the game of another.

"I'll leave it at that, Warren, for now," she said, looking back to the mansion. She could see Jean out on the porch, watching them. Betsy frowned, slightly hurt that Jean didn't trust her enough to do this on her own. Betsy crouched down, placing a bowl of water and a towel on the lush grass. In her other hand, she held a sandwich, cheese with tomatoes and lettuce, and a can of cola. She held it out to him. "You've been out here for more than six hours, I thought you might be hungry." He looked at the food then turned his head away. "I made it myself, and I will be very hurt if you do not even try my sandwich. Warren, if you knew how often I cooked, you would understand this is truly an honour."

"Thank you," he finally said, taking the plate from her tanned hands. He opened the can of pop and placed it on the grass. He sat cross legged now, leaning over the food. He bit into the sandwich and was glad she had brought it. He was famished. "It's delicious, Betsy."

"I'm glad you like it," she said, smiling. She knelt down behind him. He seemed oblivious to the action, and Betsy thanked God that was so. Jean had warned her he might not readily accept this.

She wet the towel, then squeezed out the excess water. She reached out slowly and touched the tips of her fingers to his wounded wings. He jerked away violently, and Betsy marvelled at how even the slightest touch had initiated such a vivid response.

"Shhh," she hummed, placing her hand on his back. He tried to pull away from this contact, too. "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry," he apologised in a soft, murmured voice, shaking his head slightly. "It's just . . . I . . . she . . ."

"I won't hurt you, Warren," Betsy whispered, "I promise, though it might sting a bit at first." She touched the cloth to one of the patches of matted, bloody wing. She wiped gently, trying carefully not to hurt him any further than he had already been. His wings twitched under her tender touch, though Betsy suspected that was involuntary. She could not help but think about how beautiful he was.

Despite his mutilated wings, which she figured must have been quite the sight before Candy, he was quite handsome. His body was lean, but lacking any real muscle definition. He was out of shape, though in better condition appearance-wise than most people were. The only part of his body that was heavily muscled was his back. Betsy knew from stray thoughts she had picked up that he no longer had the ability to fly, but the muscle tissue had not disappeared. He wasn't exceptionally tall, but he did appear to be taller because of his slender build. She was almost as tall as he was.

But his body wasn't the most incredible aspect of his beauty. Instead, his blue eyes, a colour that rivalled the pureness of a clear sky, twinkled with pent up passion and happiness. They were cold when you looked at them, like ice, but there was something burning in them that had too long been denied. She was mesmerised by his eyes, the blueness further accentuated by his brilliant, blond hair. Betsy had to admit, she was quite envious of the wavy and full head of hair he had been blessed with. Hers, though uniquely coloured in purple, was limp and straight.

"Betsy? Is there something wrong?" Warren asked, bursting her bubble. She drifted out of her cloud and leaned over his shoulder in question. "You stopped."

"Oh, I'm sorry. My mind must have been . . . drifting," she answered quickly, not wanting him to even think about that she might have been looking at him.

She went back to cleaning his wings, looking back to the mansion to see Jean still there watching. Betsy scanned the outmost of her thoughts, and clearly felt Jean's surprise at her success. Betsy was glad she had been able to prove to Jean she was capable of helping him. Sometimes, Jean pushed even her patience beyond controllable levels.

* * *

This was their fourth morning running together. She had discovered Warren the first morning, simply sitting around. She knew he needed to regain some of the stamina he had lost through inactivity, so she invited him for a run. It had become somewhat of a routine, but Betsy didn't mind. She enjoyed his company.

She looked over to Warren and had to admit she was impressed on how quickly he had progressed. The wheezing was down to a minimum, and he actually appeared to be enjoying himself, but there was also a look on his face that she hadn't seen before, a determination that shocked her.

"She sent me the divorce papers this morning, you know," he wheezed through laboured breathes, still jogging. "I can now say I am officially glad I signed that prenuptial agreement. She would have taken me for everything I was worth."

"Oh?" Betsy replied with a raised eyebrow. "You don't seem too upset about the news."

"No, I'm not," he confessed. He stopped running and began to walk, clutching the cramp that had developed in his side. He walked in circles for a while as Betsy did the same. "I did some thinking last night, about everything, and I came to the conclusion I was better off without her."

"You did?" Betsy said skeptically. This was coming from a man who had spent the last five days denying there was any trouble in paradise.

"Yes, I did," Warren answered with a determined look. He could understand why Betsy would be inclined not to believe him. Warren, having sufficiently cooled down, sat on the grass and stretched slightly. "It's strange, you know, these past few days have helped me realise what I've been missing. Like talking to you, for example. She would have never let me talk to another woman."

"Why did you put up with it?" Betsy asked, plopping down beside him. She had been trying hard to understand him, but she still couldn't see why he stayed with her for so long.

"Now, looking back, I don't know why." He looked out to the lake, as the wind blew ripples of water to the shore. It was very pacifying. "At the time, I thought I loved her, and I owed her, but maybe it wasn't that. I feel rather foolish about the whole thing, I suppose, but I wasn't abused," he clarified that point, "I wasn't."

"No, of course not," she patronised him. She knew enough not to push the matter, and she knew in time he'd accept what had been done to him. Society often didn't believe men when they complained of spousal abuse, so Betsy could understand why he himself was so reluctant to even acknowledge there had been abuse. She hadn't thought a man could be truly abused, but now she knew they could. It would just take Warren awhile to realise that.

* * *

In two days, a divorce had been declared. Everybody was surprised at how quickly it had all come and gone. Both Candy and Warren had gotten the best lawyers money could buy, and with their help, the whole ordeal was over and done with before it ever really began.

The X-Men, most of them anyway, had crowded into the courtroom in support. Warren appreciated them being there. It made him feel stronger. He had been quite nervous about facing Candy again, after everything that had gone down, but when she showed up with Victor, Warren wasn't nervous anymore, he was angry.

"Ignore them, Warren. She's just doing this to get a reaction out of you," Jean had told him, and he knew there was truth in her words. Candy looked over to him and smiled with the smile she had used so long to control him. She grabbed Victor and kissed him passionately in front of Warren tauntingly. Warren was speechless, but he had gotten the last laugh.

Betsy, who now had no great love of Candy after becoming so close to Warren, marched up to Warren and kissed him with a passion that rivalled then surpassed Candy and Victor. Candy mouthed something along the lines of cheap whore', but Betsy paid it no mind. She merely pranced off, leaving everybody speechless, but no one more so than Warren himself. In that kiss he had discovered something he had long felt missing from his life.

* * *

Warren slipped out of bed, half asleep still. The clock read four seventeen in neon numbers. He walked slowly, tripping on the pants he had thrown on the floor last night, then again on a box he had left by the door. He steadied himself and walked into the dark hall. He knew everybody was asleep. He should be asleep, instead he was walking blindly through the mansion. He had been dreaming again, and once again he was faced with the truth he had soon long denied.

The realisation had hit him quickly and swiftly, leaving him stunned with no time for recovery. He needed desperately to clear his head. He stumbled outside into the cool morning air. He shivered slightly, wishing now he had been so practical to put a shirt on. Instead, he pulled his healing wings close to his body. They provided the warmth he was lacking.

He walked, trying once again to escape his troubles, the torment that plagued his soul. He had no set course, just a final destination that he was starting to doubt he'd ever reach in his lifetime. Try as he might, he could not shake the dream or the acceptance from his mind.

"How could I have been so stupid?" He demanded, speaking to the early morning wind. "Why did I let myself take that? I should have left. I should have gone and never returned to her!" He screamed, running through the grass to his apple orchard. "She didn't love me, maybe once she did, but not then, no, not then."

He looked to the stars and with pleading eyes, he called out on his knees, "why?" It was simple word, only three letters, but often that simple word could not be answered. It was a complex question made of simple ideas.

"Love got in the way, Warren," Betsy answered his question. Warren almost screamed in fright but stopped himself. He looked up to her, where she stood bathed in the luminescent glow of the moon. How could she even bare to look at him when had been such a fool, so blind and broken he couldn't see the truth. "You were blinded by it because it's what we all want in our lives. You cannot blame yourself for wanting peace."

"No, I don't suppose I can," he muttered looking back down to the grassy knoll he sat on. The grass was dark green and soft against his flesh, comforting him in its gentleness.

"I was abused, wasn't I?" He asked, though the question sounded more rhetorical than an actual inquisition. "I don't know why I was so opposed to that fact. I guess, in my mind, men are not abused. It seems so . . . foreign that it could happen to me. I was a superhero, yet I let myself be forced into the role of victim."

"Victim, maybe, but I also think you're a survivor, Warren. You came out on top in this one; you didn't let it destroy you," Psylocke pointed out, looking down at him. Her eyes spoke volumes as Warren's eye connected. He stumbled up and stood beside her. "You proved that you were still Warren Worthington, even under all the scars."

"I couldn't have done it without you, Betsy. I don't think you'll ever understand how much your friendship meant to me, but thank you, for saving me from myself and Candy," he said, grasping onto her hands gently. He spread his wings fully and smiled with true happiness. He flapped his wings several times, and soon he was hovering in midair like an angel come to earth. "You healed my broken wings, and I can fly again," he whispered, before setting back down to the real world. "I'm still weak, but they do work. She didn't completely destroy me."

"I'm happy for you, Warren," Betsy said with a caring smile, "I truly am. I'm glad I helped, but I was not the only one who helped heal another. You, Warren, helped me, though I don't think you ever realised you were doing it. For the first time in a long time, I feel that sense of freedom I had been lacking. I feel as though I've been released and have become a bird."

" Together we stand', eh? Maybe, that's the way we were meant to be. Together, I mean." He smiled shyly, refusing to let go of her hands, and she didn't want him to. She never wanted him to let her go, for months ago she had not known him, but now, she understood it had been destiny from the very beginning. "Fly with me, Betsy, let me show you my world."

He held out his hands to her, and she took them. He scooped her up in his arms, his physical strength now equal to what he had in his days as an X-Man. She smiled and held onto him, her arms draped loosely around his neck.

Through the night, they glided, two souls combined as one. Warren looked down at the beautiful woman in his arms and smiled. She had made him come alive once again. He set down on top of the mansion, holding her still.

With his arms around her waist, he pulled her close. She didn't pull away, but instead wrapped her arms around him. He lowered his lips closer to her, and with that kiss, they sealed their love forever.