She was the one pushing Dr. Adderson in a wheelchair even though she was the patient with four stitches and a recent concussion and there was nothing wrong with Adderson, physically, that anyone knew of. "You have to understand," Adderson said. "It really doesn't matter what Magneto's saying. Just the fact that he's saying it is enough to make Mutant Town riot."

"That doesn't make any sense." Anna replied.

"Why would it?" Adderson said, looking up with a scowl.

She didn't answer, instead saying, "Where's Worthington?"

"Why, are you going to sue him?" Adderson said. "Wow, a doctor from Sacred Mutie suing someone else for their negligence, that'll be a switch."

"No, I'm not going to sue him."

"Why not, he smashed up your car," Adderson taunted.

"He fell on it." she said. "It wasn't his fault. Magneto put a pole through him."

"He should have left well enough alone." Adderson said. "The last thing the world needs is more dead mutants."

"The last thing?" Ana said.

"Second to last is more unstable molecule wearing mutant adventurers." Adderson said. "Aha, this is my stop. Stay out of the ER, Doctor Fidelio, I really don't want to know how much medicine that bang on your head caused you to forget. You knew little enough before."

"What do you have against the X-Men?" Ana said. "They saved the world..."

"Exactly my point." Adderson said, shaking out his white coat and smoothing out the wrinkles from riding in the wheelchair. "Any decent person would have let it die."

"What am I supposed to do?" Ana said.

"What all patients do in hospitals," Adderson said. "Be bored until we throw you out or you die."

The chaos she heard through the door of the ER as Adderson slouched into it was almost palpable, the noise and stale air forcing her back into the quieter, emptier hallway.

She found Worthington in a postoperative recovery room. His wings were hanging in makeshift slings from the ceiling. They only had the single monitor on him, which was a good sign. The surgeon was over by the window, which was open over the front of the hospital, which was ominously quiet, only the occasional speeding police cruiser or the thud of a NYPD helicopter circling the neighborhood, or crack of automatic weaponry heralding that the riots were continuing. The surgeon was smoking. He was about to put out his cigarette hurriedly, then he saw who Ana was and he just smirked at her. "You came into the hospital the wrong way today." he said. "Horizontal."

"I hear you do that all the time. Shouldn't have vodka for your breakfast." she smirked right back.

The surgeon decided he liked that, and put out his cigarette. Ana looked at Worthington's chart.

"If you can make sense out of his vitals you're either a better doctor than my whole department..."

"Nobody's that good." Ana said, shrugging.

"We had Moira MacTaggart down here one time." the surgeon said. "I think she took a wrong turn at one of those ritzy uptown hotels. She looked like she'd stepped in something."

They both looked at the Angel. "He has some kind of healing factor." the surgeon said meditatively. "The organs were rebooting as I looked at them. Dead and black to red and alive. It was wild, like I was watching him be built from the inside out."

Ana sat at Worthington's bedside and looked him over carefully. "What the hell was he doing up there?"

"What would you be doing?" the surgeon said.

"Flapping like crazy. I'm scared of heights." Ana said under her breath.

The surgeon laughed. "I'm getting out of here before he wakes up. I'll let you medical nerds do all the touchy feely stuff. Got to go cut someone open." he said, and breezed out.

"Scalpel jock." muttered Ana, but with some fondness. The surgeon wasn't as bad as some she'd met. She sat at Worthington's side. Soon, as Adderson said, boredom set in.

"What were you doing up there?" she asked him. The monitor beeped slowly but steadily. The Angel breathed. It was all he could do. Maybe, Ana thought, it was enough.