Chapter Text
By the time the florist’s van had entered the long driveway leading to the Xavier Institute for the Gifted, a dozen students had spotted it through ordinary and less than ordinary methods. A steady stream of young people of all ages, primarily girls, surged into the entryway almost bowling Henry McCoy, the school’s physician, engineer, and resident scientist, over in their enthusiasm. They milled anxiously about shoving ever so subtly to be the first to find out who had received the coveted gift of flowers and for what occasion. The adult ladies of the mansion were all away on a ‘girl’s getaway’ for two weeks, so the flowers were most likely for one lucky student from a boyfriend no doubt hoping to get lucky himself.
Henry leaned back against a stairwell and watched them with fond affection. He, like the students, was a mutant the kind they liked to show on television, the kind too inhuman to hide beneath a clever outfit or a pair of sunglasses. His code name was The Beast, and at first glance it seemed to suit him. He was built rather like a gorilla, with huge bulging arms and legs. Long, sharp fangs flashed when he smiled or laughed as he did often and matching claws adorned his large hands and feet. He was also cobalt blue and furry all over, except the blue black portions of his hair. Yet as fierce as his appearance suggested, he was a gentle soul, a healer first and everything else second.
The children knew that. Even the youngest seemed to figure it out the first time they looked at him, and so it was no surprise that he now found himself being hugged and snuggled and ruffled like an over-sized stuffed animal by the children filing into the room, many of whom had never known any love or affection until they arrived at the school. They zipped around him bubbling over with questions and speculations. Jubilee, one of the oldest almost a woman herself to his amazement and occasional dismay, leaned on his arm cracking her gum and keeping up a running commentary of who might send whom flowers and why. He let her rattle on until Wolverine came clomping into the room and she detached herself from his arm to hang on Logan her hands down favorite of the adults.
He sent the Canadian a smile of sympathy laced with a touch of 'better you than me' then shifted to look as a ripple of appreciative murmurs moved through the room. He could have sworn the very smell of the air changed from adolescent pheromones kicking into high gear as Gambit swept into the crowd with a sultry smile and a provocative laugh. Grace and charm flowed like sunlight from the Cajun as he blended easily into the youthful crowd chattering and flirting with effortless finesse. Hank watched him with the same almost motherly protectiveness he felt for the children. The Cajun was a roguish charmer and the doctor was no more immune to him than the children that adored him. Logan seemed to be the only one that did not find the former thief’s behavior endearing.
As if in response to Hank’s thought, Wolverine growled in the auburn haired man's general direction gently shoving Jubilee off him and toward her friends. “One of yer little chickies sending you posies, Gumbo?” The wink and flippant ‘maybe’ he got in return only made him huff more.
“Are we having a party?” a smooth, cultured voice spoke up behind Henry.
He tilted his head and took in the blond haired, blue-eyed angel of the X-Men team. Warren Worthington the Third stood straight and tall as always, shoulders back, snowy wings upswept with not a golden curl or bit of down out of place. McCoy and Logan were probably the only two in the room who realized how much damage his wings had taken in the fierce battle to defend against the alien invaders the week before. It was his efforts that had the winged mutant on his feet and looking like his normal million dollar self, and it would be his ongoing therapy that would eventually give his teammate back his beloved sky. He realized his mind was wandering and he was probably staring, but before he could even be embarrassed, Warren graced him with a warm and grateful smile that lit up sky blue eyes and softened the arrogant set of his features. That smile, perfect teeth, sun kissed skin, just the right amount of lift to the pale eyebrows, seemed to lighten his spirits and reassure him all at once. A manicured hand came to rest on his shoulder. Slender fingers squeezed just a moment then remained there companionably.
“How are you feeling, my friend?”
“Better. Thanks to you, I made it through my morning workout with Scott without even limping. That’s the first time since the battle.”
“Excellent! We have the technology to speed-mend muscle, bone, and cartilage, but tendon and ligament damage is still a matter of time and a careful mix of therapy and rest.”
“Your therapy is working miracles, Henry.”
“But you, my winged friend, are not very good at the rest part.” His voice was gently chiding.
“I know; I know.”
“Lean on me, old friend. You weigh next to nothing. I promise I will not tell a soul, unless of course they bribe me with chocolate.” Warren laughed but took him up on his offer shifting his weight off his injured right leg and letting his wings droop behind him relieving the strain from the most injured connective tissues. Henry felt a pointed chin dig into his shoulder a little as Warren settled against his back with a quiet sigh of relief. “I want you in the lab as soon as we see the show. I think even you will rest with a nice dose of Cyclobenzaprine in you.”
“You know you can’t hide it forever, don’t you?”
“Hide what?” He cast his eyes to his right shoulder taking in the playful smirk on his teammate’s face.
“The fact that under that sweet exterior is a mean ole country doctor who likes to give shots and terrible tasting potions and make good little boys stay home in bed when everyone else gets to go out and play.”
“Tough love, you spoiled brat.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Add a Smurf to that as the children have been doing lately and I will hurt you,” Hank warned.
“Smurf? Hmm... Now there's an idea.”
“You wouldn’t d-“ He was interrupted before he could finish the protest by the ringing of the doorbell.
Kitty was nearest the door and flung it open cooing in delight as the delivery proved to be a graceful Asian style enameled vase overflowing with old fashioned red tea roses and to his own delight fat white peonies. He inhaled deeply as the scent wafted through the hallway. They were his favorite flower, he even had one bush he had brought from his grandmother’s farm and lovingly planted beside his window the day they opened the school. The smell would creep in on the morning breeze and take him back to those simpler days. He rolled his eyes at the turn of his thoughts. He was entirely too young to be sounding like his mother even in the privacy of his own mind.
The deliveryman looked at the large group and tilted up the card on the bouquet. He made a great show of taking his time and letting the excitement build before solemnly intoning, “flowers for a Dr. Hank McCoy.”
He blinked sure he had misheard, but the clamor from the group was proof enough he had not. In short order, the flowers had been passed from person to person and delivered into his hands. Someone signed and the deliveryman slipped out unnoticed. Suddenly he was the focus of every eye in the place. The students would have pressed in even closer had Warren not straightened up and stepped out to his side. Even though he was younger than Hank by quite a bit and not as powerful as some of the students, the winged mutant was a Worthington; and he wore his wealth and power like armor, armor that could at his will become a weapon of intimidation second to none.
His presence kept the others at a respectful distance and Hank gave him a look of thanks as he lifted the card from the little plastic holder and gazed at the elegant calligraphy on the gilded paper. He opened it carefully and unfolded the heavy paper inside. The note was written in the same hand in a script only slightly less stylish than the envelope. He read it silently a second time feeling a warmth grow somewhere in the pit of his stomach and an odd tingling in his extremities. It read:
Thank you for the hope and peace you bring into my life.
When I lose sight of the reasons why I continue this fight,
I turn to you and find my faith in your compassionate eyes.
As you stand and read this letter, know that I am near
And you are never alone.
We share the same dream, you and I.
So read this letter and smile.
I alone will know that your smile is for me
And I will lock the memory away in my heart
And keep it there until the day I can hold you in my arms.
“What does it say?” Jubilee coaxed, “we’re all like dying of curiosity here!”
“You should report to the infirmary then, my dear, although you look rather healthy to me.”
“Aw at least tell us who they’re from,” Kitty bounced on her toes.
“I don’t know, the card isn’t signed.”
There was a general uproar that went on until Warren cut it short with the magic words. “I thought everyone wanted to go to the mall this afternoon?” The uproar turned into enthusiastic whoops then the group grew quiet waiting for the details and conditions like a pack of hounds waiting for the huntsman’s horn.
“That was why Gambit come up here,” the Cajun drawled playfully. “Since the girls all go away, he need to console himself somehow, oui?” The answering chorus he got only encouraged his showmanship. “So, go pretty up petites and meet Gambit in the garage. Charlie give us all a nice lil’ bit o’spending money and th’only thing you -HAVE- t’get out of it is the fixin's for your science fair project. Now don’t be forgettin’ those lists.”
“You going with him, Wings?” Logan growled as the children stampeded through the halls.
“No, I am still grounded.” He gave the doctor a pointed look then smiled as he saw McCoy gazing at the flowers with soft, distant eyes.
“Huh, I think we lost Blue.” Wolverine’s gravelly voice was surprisingly gentle. “No way should Gumbo be taking that many younguns to the mall by himself, what was Chuck thinking?”
“Hmm, you know you may be right, Wolverine. Perhaps you should go with him, just to make sure he doesn’t let them run wild.” Warren nodded thoughtfully, "Great idea. I completely approve. I’ll clear it on my authority and thank you for thinking of it. I would hate for Remy to allow any of the children to overspend or make themselves ill on junk food, or pierce anything that should not be pierced."
“Yeah, or have ‘em all in jail fer shoplifting and lewd behavior,” he stomped off toward the garage grumping to himself as he went.
“And whose plan was that? It’s a little too slick to be Scott’s so it must have been yours or Charles’.” Hank looked up from the card with amused eyes.
“The Professor was the one who wanted Wolverine to go. He thinks they balance each other better than Scott or Kurt would. It was my idea to let him volunteer himself rather than ask him outright. When he realizes I tricked him, I may need more than a muscle relaxer.”
“If he jumps on you, call me. Bad as the Wolverine is, I’m still bigger. It won’t hurt him to lend a hand with the children now and again anyway. He should earn that adoration they give him so freely. Nor would it hurt him to show you a little respect in the process. ”
“Why Henry, are you defending me?”
“Protecting my investment,” he replied archly. “I have no intention of working those wings back into shape only to have you two undo all my hard work tussling around in the danger room in a superhero sized pissing contest.”
Angel laughed cheerfully. “I see where your concerns lay, Doctor. I think I should be pouting, but it would gain me no sympathy with you.” He grew serious then, “trust me, I will not do anything to keep me earthbound a minute longer than have to be. I really do thank you for everything, Henry. It’s hard to explain, but once you have flown on your own wings, it is like an addiction.” He looked up at the large picture window on the landing wistfully. “It’s like being thirsty and seeing a tall, cold bottle of water just outside your reach.”
Hank reached up and clasped his shoulder. “I will have you aloft again soon, I promise you.”
“Thank you,” he whispered sincerely.
“Come on, let me put these in my room and we’ll get to work.”
“Reps first?”
“How hard did you work out with Scott? Tumbling? Gliding?”
“No, I was good, honestly. We did some boxing and running but mostly talking. He needed it.”
“He has a great deal he needs to get out and you are the only one he has opened up to since Jean’s death. I would say that was a forgivable risk. We’ll skip the reps this once and I’ll work on the muscles.”
“Then you’ll tuck me into bed on enough Flexoril to take down the Hulk?”
“Not quite that much but certainly enough to give your acrocoracohumeral ligament a chance to heal.”
“Uh huh, my acrisomething.”
He laughed, “ the almost ridiculously small ligament that stabilizes your entire wing and its shoulder during flight.”
“That sounds rather important. What do you mean its shoulder, my shoulders are fine.”
“Technically my friend, you have four arms.” He grinned when Angel’s steps paused a long moment. “It’s true,” he affirmed pleased with the stunned look the young man turned on him and continued the lesson with relish, “so each wing’s socket which lies just above your shoulder blades toward the center of your back instead of on the outside like a bird’s wings because your center of balance is completely unique are technically shoulders.” He opened the door to the med lab allowing Warren to move past him and start the process of undressing. “Then each of your wings has a humerus, radius, ulna, biceps, triceps, just like in your normal arms only adapted for flight. The long bone that runs from where it folds down to the tip is actually a finger.” He carried the bouquet to the small table by his door and set it down with a last, long sniff. “So I suppose the real question is why you don’t also have four legs or for that matter a tail such as birds have to help you steer in flight. You would be even more agile and stable than you are now if you had one.”
Warren sat down on the examination table and pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I’ve actually wondered about that before. Other winged things don’t have arms, just legs and their wings. That would be very inconvenient as would four legs. A set of tail feathers might be nice though. It would help in braking to land as well. I could get more stopping power with less thrashing.” He laughed, “as if it isn’t hard enough to get clothes tailored to me as it is.”
Hank turned on the imaging scanner and raised the right wing stretching it up and out. The wall sized computer monitor greyed out for a moment then the internal structures swam into focus. He tapped a portable keyboard and a small thin band highlighted in gold. “This is that important little fellow.” He ran his hands along the wing pressing carefully into the stabilizing band. “If not for it, the forces on your wings in flight would tear them to pieces. See the bulge here? That’s the inflamed area, where the fibers have separated. These tendons are also inflamed here where you rashly lifted that large male and the car to which he was attached. Effective as it was, that was not an overly smart move. You actually stretched them beyond their normal range and they tore so once the adrenaline faded, the pain hit. Am I boring you yet?”
“If I had a tutor like you, I might have become a zoologist or biologist or something and made dad proud.”
“I think superhero suits you a little better, you do not exactly look the part of the mousey little lab assistant with coke bottle glasses and no social life or the absent minded professor with his little horn rims perched on his nose.” He touched his own glasses for emphasis.
Warren grinned then sighed in pure bliss as the doctor’s warm hands began to glide over his back and shoulders. The massage was gentle and soothing at first but as he worked it grew stronger reaching deeper stretching and manipulating both the muscles and the connective tissue working it loose, even moving the joints in small careful motions. His sighs were now grunts or smothered groans. As usual, about the time he was sure he could not stand another moment, the massage gentled again.
"Still with me, Angel?"
"Barely." He was slicked with sweat now and shivering a little. "Are you sure you aren't psychic? You always stop just a second before I scream."
"Actually I am cheating. I have one of Cerebro's monitors reading your brain waves, specifically the ones that register pain. See over there, the top image? The reds are already fading to oranges and yellows, when they smooth out to green in just a moment, we'll move on to the thigh."
"Oh joy,” he replied sarcastically then smiled, "Actually the thigh does not hurt nearly as much."
"It was more muscle damage and thus easier to heal." He let go of the wing with a last light brush to smooth a few errant feathers back into place and stretched his fingers before moving around the table and running his injured leg through a series of stretches and low impact exercises.
"I am very pleased with it. I don't think we need any more work on it other than resting it whenever it feels tired. You may find you still want to favor it, especially when you are tired, but try not to do that. Use it normally and don’t learn any patterns that will become habit later." He took a step back and looked thoughtfully at Warren. "If you just rest where I can see you and make sure you don't stir a feather, I won't drug you. Why don't you pile up on my couch, which is very comfy, trust me. You can watch movies or something until dinner. I'll make you something to eat, then by the time the kids get back I'll feel secure in turning you loose."
Warren grinned, "hmm, people might think we're up to something."
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Like what?"
"I'll think of something to get up to, Papa Smurf."
He swatted the well-muscled thigh. "And I’ll bring out mean ole Mr. Hypo."
"That’s not fair.”
“A fair is a place to ride rides and eat cotton candy, my friend, this is the real world.”
Henry offered him a hand and Warren rose gracefully from the table. His wings snapped out around them rustling loudly and pushing a wave of air as they flexed shaking his feathers neatly back into place. Hank felt a wave of disorientation as for a moment the world became living walls of pristine white, then the wings were gone with a soft whisper of displaced air and Warren was standing sheepishly in his red running shorts with his hands behind his back.
“ Uhm, sorry. I do that without thinking, sometimes.”
“They seem much larger up close like that and definitely no snapping them like that.”
He chuckled softly and wiped the sweat from his forehead. “You know, your couch sounds like a pretty good deal right now.”
He smiled and took his friend’s elbow guiding him through the door to his private quarters and settling him in on his own pillows. “I’ll get you a cup of tea and some Tylenol.”
“My hero,” he answered softly. He picked up the remote and flipped through the regular TV channels. He was not too big on television or movies so he finally stopped it on a documentary about a jungle somewhere. The announcer had a smooth melodic voice and he kicked his feet up curling around the pillows until his wings lay comfortably against the back of the couch. He was almost asleep when Hank dropped a blanket over him and set a mug within easy reach on the coffee table. He made a soft sound of thanks as the blue mutant sat down at his feet. He let his bare feet wiggle out of the blanket to rest against Hank’s hip. “You looked happy when you read that card, you smiled.”
“I did?” Hank absently caught his ankles and lifted them into his lap skillfully massaging the long, slender feet and graceful arches. He noted with no little amusement that The Angel had absolutely lovely feet and even the toes were perfectly pedicured with skin was soft as a lady’s hands.
“Mmmm, yeah you did, and that feels incredible.”
“I’m sure the Worthington Empire has a few skilled masseuses in its employ.”
“Yes but none of them are as good as you.”
“Oh, flattery will get you everywhere.”
“I certainly hope so.” He stretched enough to grab the tea and sipped it thoughtfully. “What kind of bird is that?” He nodded toward the TV.
“A Bowerbird, it is building that house to impress the female. He paints it up with berries and stocks it with food to show her what a good provider he is. Like most male birds, he is quite the show off.”
“So you weren’t impressed when I lifted that male alien and the Kia? I thought it was rather macho looking.”
“I was not in the least impressed any more than I was awed when you swooped down in that hard dive and plowed into the Queen to distract her long enough for Logan to gut her.”
“Aw tough crowd, that was a great move. The news played it a dozen times.”
“Your adoring public,” he teased.
“One of these days, I will impress you, Henry McCoy. Just you wait and see,” he muttered quietly.
Hank patted the feet in his lap soothingly then pulled the blanket over them. “You often impress me, my friend.” He turned cobalt eyes to the fair face snuggled against his dark blue pillow case. Asleep Angel looked sweet, no other word fit. His lips were soft and slack and slightly parted, golden lashes rested on cream cheeks and honey curls tumbled over his neck charmingly. He looked innocent and far too young to be a warrior. The doctor sighed as he slipped out from under his feet and went to retrieve his flowers.
He re-read the card as he carried the flowers to the table. His mind was busily examining the words as he worked on dinner. The card seemed to indicate that the person who sent it had been present when he received it. That ruled out all the X-Ladies and pretty much left the students, the guys, and the small handful of civilians who worked at the school. None of them had been present though, unless they were watching from somewhere he had not noticed. That was possible. Then again, the card had mentioned the fight and the dream they both shared, that sounded like a teammate more than a student or a civilian. If his admirer was male, some things in the card made more sense. His admirer wanted to hold him in his or her arms instead of being held, that was more in keeping with a male. He tapped his claw thoughtfully on the salad bowl. He did not mind being held at all and he was open to new experiences. Love was love, wherever it came from. His eyes moved back to the slumbering form on his couch. Maybe his admirer was a young attractive male like Warren or Gambit, or even Kurt with his exotic and nearly inhuman beauty, or even Logan, who for all his faults threw off enough sheer, animal masculinity to never want for bed partners.
He chuckled at the very thought of Logan penning a note so close to poetry and tried to clear his mind as he turned the steaks. He was as foolish as the girls getting so excited when for all he knew the flowers were someone’s idea of a joke. Still, those words had sounded so sincere if words could be said to have any tone other that whatever the reader added in his own mind.
He slid the steaks off onto the sensible and miraculously resilient Corelle plates his mother had given him when he had left home for medical school. Edna McCoy had been convinced her favorite son would surely starve in the dangerous world of bachelorhood so she taught him to cook and stocked him with the supplies to do so. She had given him the dinnerware when he was seventeen and they had survived college, medical school, attacks by aliens, monsters, and mutants, fires, floods, and riots. Only one teacup was missing and that one he had broken himself crushing it in his hand when at last the shock had worn off and Jean's death had hit home.