try having wings
Betsy Braddock tucked her ponytail into her trench coat, its collar popped – more for a wind breaker than a fashion statement. She stared out into the water, out toward the city. She'd spent so much time away from the X-Men – and now that she was back, she really just wanted to be alone.
"You'd think one would feel isolated on an island," she thought aloud. She'd gotten used to being her favorite conversationalist.
"Try having wings," Warren Worthington stepped out of the shadows, his pale face reflecting the moonlight from above. "Scott's no-fly-zone rule isn't just for the Blackbird."
"I feel like I'm suffocating."
"Try having wings."
"He has a lot to sort out," Psylocke continued to stare ahead.
"Luckily he has old friends to fall back on," Warren took a step closer to the balcony ledge. It was the first time they'd been together without any interruption. He felt his stomach turn – she was even more beautiful than he remembered. And he didn't know that was possible.
His elbows rested on the ledge as he turned to stare at her. "Like someone else I know."
"Come to cheer me up, Warren?" She turned. She felt her stomach turn – he was even more beautiful than she remembered.
"Do you need cheering up?" He grinned. "I just wanted some air – didn't know you were up here."
Betsy ran her fingers across the side of his face and their eyes locked, her thumb resting on his lips. Water crashed onto Utopia below.
"Ask Sam," Warren didn't break the eye contact. "How's Neil?"
"A relationship usually ends when you die," Betsy moved closer. "And it was over between Thunderbird III," she scoffed, "before it began, really."
"No more Crimson Dawn, I see," Warren moved in.
She could feel his breath on her lips. He hadn't even realized his hand had found the small of her back.
Warren's eyes closed, and for just a second, so did Betsy's. Their lips were practically touching, neither making the first move – and then:
"We gotta go," Wolverine emerged from the building. The two pulled apart, Betsy eyeing Logan's black costume.
She took a step left, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "The yellow's in the wash, Logan?"
"Ah," Betsy smiled. "Didn't know if you were X-Force, an X-Man or Avenger tonight – but I suppose your flight to New York would've left some time ago."
"Funny," Logan smiled. "No Avengers, 'least not right now. No-fly-zone."
"Don't remind me," Betsy and Warren said in unison.
"It can wait," Angel stepped forward. "I haven't had a chance to—"
"It can't wait, Warren. Not accordin' to your boy, anyway."
"Scott? He'll understand."
"That a lost love has returned from the dead or God-knows-where?" The wind freed Betsy's ponytail from the trench coat. "I'm not Jean, Warren. It would've just been a kiss."
She leaned in, pecked Warren's cheek and moved past both he and Logan. "Have a good night, boys."
And she was gone.
"Ouch," Wolverine watched her leave. "You okay--?"
Logan turned, but Warren was gone. He caught a glimpse of the blue-skinned, silver-winged Archangel flying above the complex.
Psylocke made her way down toward the base of the island, stepping over rocks until she could feel the spritz of the water that surrounded them. She watched a feather, lost in Warren's transformation into Archangel, dance to the ground next to her and looked back up to see him in his Apocalyptic glory. His wings slit through the air to keep him above her.
"It wouldn't have just been a kiss."
Betsy bent down, grabbed the feather, examined it for a moment and looked back to Warren. "'Fraid so, luv."
"Then kiss me now," he landed in front of her, bringing his wings forward to shelter her from the wind. "And prove it." They were encased – the only two on the island.
She traced his cheek bones a second time and their eyes locked again, but this time Psylocke looked away. "Warren," she dropped the feather and ran her forefinger along one of the razors surrounding her.
The two were silent, Betsy continuing to run her finger down the wing. "A part of me will always love you," she winced, slightly; a wince only Death himself would have recognized.
Part of Warren liked it.
Archangel's eyes watched her finger and found their way to the trail of blood it was leaving behind. She noticed he was watching and brought her finger, a thin crimson line at its center, between them, stepping in closer and placing it onto his lips. "But I've had enough run-ins with death to last me a lifetime."
His tongue found the blood and he grabbed her, pulling her in. She nearly went limp, the two lip-locked as the waves crashed around them.
Warren pushed her back, his hands wrapped around her arms. He grinned, stepped back and propelled himself upward.
Betsy watched him fly away, running her fingers against her own lips this time.
It was like she had wings.