//thoughts//

~foreign language translated into English~

***************************************
 
 

Something takes a part of me,
Something lost and never seen.
Everytime I start to believe,
Something's raped and taken from me... from me.

Life's always got to be messing with me. (You wanna see the light?)
Can't they chill and let me be free? (So do I.)
Can't I take away all this pain? (You wanna see the light?)
I try to every night, all in vain... in vain.

Sometimes I cannot take this place.
Sometimes it's my life I can't taste.
Sometimes I cannot feel my face.
You'll never see me fall from grace.

Something takes a part of me.
You and I were meant to be.
A cheap fuck for me to lay.
Something takes a part of me.

Feeling like a freak on a leash. (You wanna see the light?)
Feeling like I have no release. (So do I.)
How many times have I felt diseased? (You wanna see the light?)
Nothing in my life is free... is free.

- Lyrics to Freak on a Leash by Korn.

********************************************
 

"Professor, this is Warren Worthington III. Warren, this is Professor Charles Xavier."

"Hello, Warren. I am pleased that Scott was able to convince you to join us," Professor Xavier smiled, his blue eyes twinkling at the handsome youth. It had been five days since Warren had awakened. The Professor had felt that Warren needed to adjust to his new life before meeting himself and stepping up his membership to the X-Men.

Warren narrowed his eyes slightly, and crossed his arms. He remained silent, reviewing the fact that this man had told perfect strangers of his rape. His wings fluttered, which Cyclops had learned over the past few days meant that Warren was anxious or nervous.

"Warren's still a little unsure, he just wants a probationary period, to see what all this is like-"

"Why bother telling him, Scott? He's a telepath. I'm sure he already knows," Warren said smoothly, not bothering to hide his venom.

The Professor steepled his hands, looking seriously at Warren. "Despite what you may think, Mr. Worthington, I don't make it
a habit to look into people's minds unless I have to. When you first came here, I doubt you remember how badly off you were. You almost killed Dr. Jean Grey, not to mention myself, in your confusion and rage. It was necessary that I do psychic surgery, to heal your mental wounds. I understand why you would be upset with me, Warren, but I honestly did it only to help you. I am also sorry that you dislike the fact that I told the X-Men, but two of them already knew, and it was necessary that the other two know, so they knew exactly what they were dealing with. Perhaps I overstepped my bounds, which is why I am apologizing to you. But you'll find that none of us make judgments on others' pasts. We all have some sort of skeleton in our closet, I assure you," he said evenly, his tone adopting equal parts regret and assurance.

Warren stared at him. "Damn, you're good," he said.

"Thank you," the Professor smiled. "Does this mean that you're not so angry with me, you want to reach across my desk and choke me anymore?"

Scott's eyebrows raised and Warren smiled. "I suppose. Muck around with my head a second time, and I guarantee you that not even little Scotty here could stop me," he said dangerously. Warren found the bald man before him overly-righteous and mildly arrogant. And yet, Warren found himself almost instantly placing a guarded trust in Charles Xavier. The Professor`s eyes held compassion, which was something Warren was unused to until he met Scott.

"Fair enough," the Professor answered calmly, even when Scott turned to Warren in mild apprehension. "I can offer you therapy twice a week, if you're interested. If you're still upset with me, Dr. Grey can also be your therapist, and even Scott has a degree in psychology."

"The woman? No thanks," Warren sighed. "You'll be fine. As long as you keep your mouth shut this time."

"I assure you, Warren Worthington III, that your secrets are safe with me."

The tension between Warren and the Professor almost instantly disappeared. In Charles Xavier`s was an honesty that Warren had never seen in anyone else. The similarities in bearing and personality between the wheel-chair bound man and Scott Summers were uncanny. Perhaps it was the many traits Professor Charles Xavier shared in common with Scott that put Warren at ease.

"So, have you picked out a code name to use while on the team?" the Professor continued, bringing out papers from one of his drawers.

"Not really," Warren shrugged, leaning back into his chair.

"Angel," Scott interrupted. Warren blinked. Why did Scott insist on calling him that? Perhaps he looked like one, but Warren knew he was no true angel. But why ruin Scott`s favorable perception of Warren?

"Angel. Appropriate. Do you agree, Warren?" Professor Xavier smiled.

"That's fine," Warren said, glancing at Scott with an odd expression. He wondered what Scott would think of him if he knew the Warren Worthington III that existed before Callisto came along.

"You won't go out on any combat missions for a while, as it is necessary that you receive some intense combat training first. I ask each of the X-Men, those who graduated college, to join in teaching the younger students. I understand you have an MBA, and were working on your PhD. Teaching business to some of those students who wish to rejoin humanity would be excellent, and even useful to those who wish to stay on," the Professor patiently explained.

"That's fine, I can teach. I know things other than business, though," Warren shrugged.

"Are there other classes you'd be interested in teaching?"

"French. I was always good with that language. I can teach foreign languages, but I'll go for French, since it was always my strongest."

"How many do you know?"

"Five. English, French, German, Russian, and Japanese."

"Very impressive," the Professor said approvingly. "You'll be a fine addition to the faculty here."

"Heh. I'm not good with little kids. I can't tolerate teenagers. Don't get too happy too soon," Warren said sourly.

"I'm sure you'll do fine. Teenagers are quite tolerable once you get to know them. I'll assign you to the older groups, and I'm sure you'll get along with them fine. Especially our oldest class."

"You have a lot of confidence in me, old man."

Charles Xavier smiled. "I know people, Warren, and I have faith in them. People tend to be better than they think they are," he replied.

"Including Magneto and his Brotherhood?"

Charles' face darkened slightly, and he stared down at his paperweight with a troubled expression on his face. "They were all
better than that. But Eric refused to see it," he sighed.

"I see," Warren said quietly.

Silence filled the room and Scott stood up. "Well, I wanted to introduce the two of you. Now that we've gotten things established, we should be on our way," he said, trying to erase the uncomfortable emotions that had arisen.

Both Warren and the Professor exchanged a glance, and smiled knowingly at each other. Good old Scott. Always there when you needed him. "You probably should. You two should get out and have some fun. Young men such as yourselves shouldn't lock yourselves away from the world constantly. Warren, on Mondays and Thursdays, I'd like to see you in my office, at seven every night," he said.

"That's fine, but where would we go?" Warren asked.

"Scott's a bit bigger than you are, and I'm sure you'd like some clothes of your own, rather than his. Here, go buy some clothing and treat yourselves to dinner. It'll be good for both of you," the Professor said, pulling a credit card out and handing it to Scott.

"Thank you, sir," Scott beamed.

Warren worked his jaw. Having to rely on others' generosity, especially after having been the son of one of the richest men in the world did not rest well with him. "So it's Wal-Mart and Target for me, eh?" Warren sighed. Once he was able to have his own tailors, with clothes all made just for him...

"Actually, they have some rather nice stores in the mall. Perhaps you would like to shop where Scott does," the Professor offered.

"So I can dress up in turtlenecks meant for men twice my age? No thank you. Scott can go shopping with me, and I'll make him develop a sense of fashion," Warren smirked, eyeing the green sweater Scott wore. He wondered again why Scott always got cold so easily.

"I should like to see that. It's sad when I give Scott the clothes I wore when I was his age, and he likes them," the Professor said snidely.

"Hey, why are you ganging up on me? I'm the good guy here, remember?" Scott bristled, looking at his sweater.

"Which is why I have to pick on you. C'mon, Scooter, we'll get you something that doesn't make you look like the return of the Beatles," Warren grinned and snatched the credit card away. He sauntered towards the door, smirking at the confused expression on Scott`s face.

"Scooter? Return of the Beatles? What is that supposed to mean?" Scott asked.

"Don't worry about it, Scott. Just go, go have fun and don't even worry about a spending limit. Just go," the Professor laughed,
shooing Scott and Warren out of his office.

Warren snickered at his friend as they left.
 
 
 
 

The meeting had gone better than Scott expected. He had learned over the past few days that Warren shared a few traits in common with Logan. They both had a bad temper and an instant dislike for authority. And yet, those traits in Warren never bothered him like they did in Logan. Unlike Logan, Warren easily resolved his issues. He didn't seem to hold grudges, at least not with men.

Scott yawned as he leaned against the doorway. Warren was still primping and preening after two hours. Granted, it might have been the first time he was going out in public in over two weeks, but Scott couldn't understand why someone as good-looking as Warren would need that much time to get ready.

Scott grew tired of waiting for him and wandered away, to go see if his girlfriend wanted to come along. He wandered down the hallway in a relatively good mood. Warren was fun to be around, a reminder of the youth Scott possessed but never relished. Warren was like fresh air in a room left closed and boarded for years. It was nice to have a friend, a friend his own age, and with close interests to his own. Scott had never had a friend his own age before, and he found himself enjoying Warren's company immensely.

Scott found Jean in one of the rec rooms, watching an old movie with Logan. He paused, not making his presence known, and just peeked through the doorway. Jean was laughing loud and had just swatted Logan with a pillow for some comment or another. Logan was laughing as well, an expression rarely found from him. She swatted him once more for luck, and placed the pillow on Logan's lap, so she could rest her head on it and finish the movie. Scott withdrew quickly, before Jean could sense him, and headed back to Warren's room.

Was Jean's attraction to Logan the same reason Scott was growing so close, so quickly to Warren? Was it the age thing? When he thought about it, Scott couldn't think of anything he and Jean really had in common, other than their love of the Professor and devotion to The Cause. They didn't even like the same music. They would tolerate the other's likes out of respect, but did Scott ever have fun with Jean? He couldn't remember. He enjoyed her company, but fun wasn't a word
he'd use to describe it. Even the sex had cooled off, becoming comfortable and pleasurable, rather than driving and consuming.

But Logan was different from Scott. He was dark and mysterious, and had this air of sensuality about him that women seemed to like, even if just put other men like Scott, Warren, and even Bobby Drake off. And Logan was older, older than even Jean. Scott wondered if she enjoyed playing the younger, more inexperienced part to Logan's older and wiser. A complete role reversal with her relationship with Scott.

And then there was Scott himself. Did he not try his best to act and even look older for Jean? Even when Jean would suggest
something "fun", would Scott just try something safe, thinking she might think he was just a little boy? How often did he and Jean watch an old movie, and then have a pillow fight? Try never.

Warren came out of the bathroom, smiling. Scott stopped breathing for a moment, seeing Warren in something other than his old sweats. Scott had asked St. John and Bobby for clothing, since Warren was closer to their size. St. John's blue cargo pants looked nice on Warren, hugging his thighs appropriately. It was Bobby's blue shimmer shirt he wore, and the baggy black coat he wore hid his wings, as he'd harnessed them down. His hair was styled forward into his face, giving him an almost seductive look. Wearing clothes that suited him pointed out Scott's first impression of Warren.

Beautiful. Absolutely perfect.

Scott cleared his throat and turned his face. "You look nice," he said awkwardly.

"Thank you. Where did you get this outfit, anyway?"

"Those teenagers you're already griping about, and don't know yet. You really will like them once you get to know them. The pants are St. John Allerdyce's. He's a pyrokinetic troublemaker. The shirt is Bobby Drake's. He's a cryotechnic dufus. They have better taste in clothes than I do, though," Scott smiled.

"You sound fond of them," Warren said, cocking his head to the side.

"I am. See, I found both of them. Bobby had been abandoned, and I found him in a abandoned old house in California, where he came from. It was the middle of summer, but around the house it was so cold everything had frosted over. He was starving to death, and had put himself in cryogenic sleep. St. John, well he was on the run from the Brotherhood. Magneto tried to force him to join, but Johnny didn't like him. Pretended to light his cigarette, and instead used the tiny lighter flame to attack Magneto with a dragon made from fire. We came just in time. I guess they're like the little brothers I...don't have anymore," Scott said quietly.

"Replacements for Alex?" Warren said gently, sitting down beside Scott and gently stroking a finger over Scott's fingers. Over the past few days, Scott had talked more about his past to Warren than anyone else. Scott started at the touch and turned to stare at Warren.

"I guess. It's easy to imagine Alex would act like Bobby. He really is a goofball. And St. John looks just like Alex would. Blonde hair, and he's a bit smaller than the other boys. Of course, Alex is older than they are, but I can't help but seeing him as a kid. I miss him," Scott confessed.

Warren's fingers closed over Scott's and he smiled sadly at the dark- haired man next to him. "I never had a little brother, but I always wanted one. Just think about how nice it was to have him, even for a little while," Warren whispered.

"Yeah, I guess. It's funny that I miss him more than my parents. Even more than my mom. My father was a hard-ass, and my mom always seemed kinda out of it, but Alex was always there. It was my job to protect him and...I didn't..." Scott choked, wondering why he would let these emotions out for a man he'd known less than a week, and couldn't even begin to voice them to Jean, the supposed love of his life.

Warren rested his head against Scott's shoulder. "You were ten, Scott. How could you save your brother when you were ten? You both had the same parachute, you said. It was just fate. Just let it go. He wouldn't want you to dwell on this," Warren said gently, squeezing Scott's hand.

They had been over this before. Warren would share his pain, and Scott would share his. And they both would feel a little better for letting it out, and being supported.

Scott put an arm around his friend, feeling the odd lumps of the blond beauty's wings beneath his hands. "I know, I know, but I
just...I just can't stop thinking about him," he sighed.

"I can't think of anything to say other than the cliche answers I just gave you, Scott. But you know you can cry on my shoulder. Fuck, I've cried enough on yours over the past few days. You are the nicest guy I know, and have nothing to be guilty about, okay?" Warren said, moving his arms around Scott, emboldened by the other's hug.

"You're right. But sometimes the cliche answers are what people need to hear, so it doesn't hurt to say them, Warren. So, thanks," Scott said, squeezing his friend and then detaching himself.

Warren withdrew, watching Scott thoughtfully. Scott closed his eyes and lifted his glasses a little to wipe his eyes. Warren remained silent.

"Alright, let's go shopping. Maybe you'd like Old Navy? Johnny and Bobby swear by them," Scott said, standing up.

Warren stood up as well. "Well, I've never really bought clothes from a mall before, so we'll start there, okay?" he smiled.

"Why do I have a feeling that I'm not going to enjoy this?"
 
 
 
 

Despite his doubts, Scott actually did enjoy himself.

Shopping with Jean- or worse yet, Jean and Ororo- was sort of torture for Scott. He most often wound up carrying all their bags and trying to find a way to get out of answering questions like 'Is this my color?' or 'Does this make me look fat?' These questions embarrassed him, particularly when they picked outfits that really did make them look fat or too sallow, and he couldn't say what he thought, because then one or both of them would be mad at him. Scott could easily identify with Warren's frustration with women.

But shopping with Warren was actually fun. Warren was very confident of his looks, and knew what he looked good in. There was no consulting Scott on the matter, who didn't really notice things like clothes or hair. And Warren carried his own stuff.

However, when it came time for Scott's clothing, Scott was extremely embarrassed. Warren fussed and cooed over him like Jean and Ororo did with the younger girls when they went shopping. And Warren kept running through the entire mall, buying a thing here or a thing there, and then putting them together. All the fuss over Scott was something he was just not used to. Warren treated him like a Ken doll.

But it was sort of nice to be fussed over, and hear how nice certain colors complimented him. It was just strange to suddenly have no say about what he liked. The moment he made for the turtlenecks, sweatshirts, and pullover sweaters, Warren would drag him away. Scott just felt like a fish out of water, hearing a man tell him he should wear tight pants to show off his ass was weird, even when the man in question was as androgynous and as beautiful as Warren, was just downright odd. Men just didn't fuss over other men, at least in Scott's limited experience. Hell, women didn't fuss over men.

"Okay, I now have five Worthington-approved outfits. You have about a dozen, last I checked. You shop like a woman, but at least you're not as annoying. Can we please go eat now? I'm starving, Warren," Scott finally interrupted, looking longingly at a Ruby Tuesday's receding in the distance.

"One more store. This one is really interesting looking, too. I like the mall, I think. Cheap, but kinda cool," Warren commented, dragging Scott into Hot Topic.

Scott was assaulted by alternative, gothic, and just plain weird items. Warren headed straight for the jewelry, while Scott gawked at one of the shoppers, who had to have at least ten piercings in her face alone. Scott vaguely connected St. John to this store, noting many of St. John's clothing and various accessories on sale here. Even Bobby must pick up a few things from here.

Warren's fear of people seemed to have abated for the day, and Scott noted Warren was engaged into a deep conversation with a short, fat young girl wearing a peasant shirt and a pair of bell-bottoms. They seemed to be rifling through the jewelry together. Warren found all the generically made and imitation jewelry at the mall delightfully tacky. Scott found everything to be over-priced and expensive.

Scott found himself in the back, between the make-up and the gothic clothing, looking at fuzzy dice and miniature disco balls to hang off a car mirror. Fuzzy wheel covers and Scooby Doo memorabilia caught his eye and Scott wondered if maybe nobody would notice if he got one of those funny stickers with smart-ass remarks on it for his motorcycle. Warren seemed fascinated by the fact that Scott not only had a motorcycle, but had built it himself.

Warren walked over to a rack near Scott. The chubby girl Warren was talking to waved good-bye to him, and left with another girl. Scott didn't pay much attention to what Warren was doing, as he was seriously considering buying a pair of leather platform boots he found.

Scott grabbed the boots and turned to ask Warren's opinion, when he noticed that Warren was holding something odd in his hand. It was a very small collar-like circlet, far too small for a cat or dog. It had little spikes on it, and Scott wondered if it was a collar for maybe a pet ferret or something.

Warren was staring at it in morbid fascination, like the way you would stare at a dead body. And then pure horror crept across his face. Warren dropped the bags he was carrying, and backed away from the rack. He turned around and looked ready to run. Scott noted with alarm that Warren's back was moving, which meant his wings were trying to get free. Scott didn't know what set Warren off, but he grabbed the blond from behind before someone noticed, and started to freak out about mutants in the mall.

"Warren, I don't know what's wrong, but calm down, right now. We're out in public. Calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen to you," Scott whispered, lowering Warren to the floor, as a clerk with dyed magenta hair and plaid stockings approached them carefully.

"Sir? Is everything okay? Do you want me to call 911 or something?" she asked.

"We're fine, we're fine," Scott said quickly. "He's just sick. I'll take care of him."

"Are you sure?

"Yeah, it's fine, miss. He hasn't eaten yet, so he's a little faint. We're gonna go eat now. He's so dramatic," Scott grinned, trying not to notice the fact that Warren was whimpering.

The woman seemed to understand something, and she just grinned. "I know, I know. He probably just wanted you to hold him," she said wickedly.

"Heh heh," Scott said weakly, picking Warren's bags up and ushering the blond out as fast they could go.

Scott dashed towards the men's bathroom, and not caring what anyone said or thought, he pushed Warren in one of the stalls and locked them both in. There was only one man in the bathroom, washing his hands, and he just rolled his eyes, as if seeing two men rush into the same stall happened all the time.

"Warren. Warren, what's wrong?" Scott asked, holding the beautiful man against him.

Warren was trembling, and Scott knew he was trying very hard not to cry. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll be okay. I'll be okay," he whimpered.

"What happened? Warren, please tell me what's wrong. What was that thing you were holding?" Scott asked apprehensively.

Warren swallowed, clutching Scott's arms, trying to calm himself. He closed his eyes, breathing too quickly. "It was...it was...a cock ring, Scott," he breathed.

Scott blinked. His sexual experience was limited to Jean, and their sex life was rather monotone. If Jean was adventurous, Scott never knew it. "I, um, well, see..." he said, still clueless.

"You put it around the base of your cock when you're hard. It cuts off the blood flow, and you can't cum as easily, so you stay hard a lot longer," Warren said blandly, as if he was reciting a textbook.

It dawned on Scott.

"Callisto..." Scott began and then cut himself off. Like Warren needed someone else to remind him of what he was obviously trying to forget.

Warren nodded and then turned his face away, looking angry now. Scott had learned very quickly that Warren hated crying or appearing weak in front of others. Scott grabbed the blond again and hugged him tight. It seemed to calm Warren.

Scott wondered at his ability to show affection to Warren so easily. Even with Jean, Scott had trouble expressing himself. Maybe it was because Warren reminded him of his dead brother. Maybe it was because Warren was the last person on earth to pass judgment on any of Scott's actions. Maybe it was because Warren reacted just like Scott wanted someone to react, by snuggling against him, and breathing into his collarbone.

Weird.

After a while, Warren pulled back. His eyes were dry, and Scott was impressed. Even Scott himself couldn't refrain from crying that well. Scott smiled down at him.

"Better?" he asked.

Warren nodded, his hands still resting on Scott's chest, playing with his sweater. "Why are you always so cold...? You feel warm," he said, changing the subject.

Scott shrugged. "The Professor said it's because I absorb ambient solar energy, which my body translates into my optic beams. I'm not  getting all the warmth I should because my body is directly funneling it out. So I get cold easily. No biggie," he answered, letting everything pass. Warren would talk to him when he was ready.

"We'll buy you a couple jackets to go with your new outfits after dinner, okay?" Warren said, looking up at Scott, and dropping his hands.

"Fine, fine. You sure you want to eat out? We can go back to the mansion."

"I'm fine, Scott. I want to eat here. With you," Warren said seriously, looking at Scott oddly from underneath his blond bangs.
Scott swallowed, feeling uncomfortable under that stark blue gaze.

"Okay, then let's go," Scott smiled, and turned to open the door to the stall, finding a couple of startled men outside in the bathroom, who gave both Scott and Warren the eye for emerging from the same stall together.

Warren smiled at them pleasantly, and even slipped an arm around Scott's arm, flouncing his hips just to make them gape. Scott was startled, but realizing what Warren was doing, he just grinned, and like any gentleman, he opened the door graciously for Warren. The pair burst out laughing once they exited the bathroom.

"Did you see the look on their faces? It was hilarious!" Warren snickered.

"Priceless, truly priceless," Scott chuckled. Warren didn't bother to detach himself from Scott, however, and Scott made no effort to detach him, so they walked into the restaurant, arm in arm, receiving some interesting stares from people.

They were seated by the hostess, and another girl came to take their order, staring at them oddly the whole time. Warren demanded to sit in smoking, and to Scott's surprise the man pulled out a box of clove cigarettes.

"Didn't know you smoked," Scott commented after Warren returned from the salad bar, muttering under his breath about cheap salads.

Warren picked up his cigarette and took a puff. "Only when I'm upset," he smiled.

Scott didn't smile back. "I see. I thought you said you were okay," he sighed.

"I am. I just want some nicotine to help me out, okay?" Warren said testily.

Scott just sighed, and said nothing as their appetizer was placed in front of them. Warren finished the cigarette and stared at Scott, his expression guarded, dangerous now. Warren could switch moods faster than Logan could pop his claws.

"Why are you so nice to me anyways? Xavier needed you to baby-sit the crazy new boy, so he told you to be my friend, so I'd want to join your stupid little mutant band or something?" Warren asked petulantly.

Scott looked up and met his eyes, instantly frustrated that he could never look anyone in the eye. "The Professor asked me to look out for you, Warren. But he didn't ask me to be your friend. You did. And I am, and that has nothing to do with Professor Xavier. I like you because you're interesting, and fun to talk to and be with. I'm nice to you because you're my friend," Scott said clearly.

Warren seemed to relax. Scott was nothing if not candid, and Scott had already learned that candor was something Warren
appreciated. "Wish I could see your eyes," Warren said distantly.

"So do I, trust me," Scott sighed, munching absently on a mozzarella stick.

"So your girlfriend, Jean, how long have you two dated?" Warren asked nonchalantly, though his gaze was intent. Not for the first time, Scott wondered why Warren always brought up the subject of Jean, at least once a day. Probing for information about her and their relationship.

Scott shrugged. "About six years. Since I was eighteen," he answered, knowing how bad that sounded.

"Well, at least she waited until you were legal," Warren said sourly.

Scott sighed. "For the record, I asked her out, not the other way around. I do love her, you know," he sighed, sensitive about Jean. Their relationship had lately turned into friendship with an occasional bout of sex. She spent more time with Logan, and of late, he spent more time with Warren. Where was the heat he used to feel for her? The passion? And why the fuck was she distancing herself from him for Logan?

And why would Warren not leave it alone?

"Are you *in* love with her?" Warren pressed. Scott winced.

The big question. The one he had been avoiding asking himself. Was Scott in love with Jean? Was Jean in love with Scott?

Silence.

"I...don't know anymore," Scott sighed. He couldn't blame it on Logan, not really. They'd been dead-ending since before Logan showed up.

Warren actually looked pleased, and his eyes lit up. Scott was mildly confused by Warren's reaction. Warren couldn't possibly like him, could he?

"Oh," was all Warren said, trying to hide his smile.

The main courses arrived, and Scott dove into his burger with relish, noting that Warren was delicately nibbling on soup and a potato. Scott instantly felt uncouth again, but Warren never said anything about the mustard dribbling down Scott's chin, or the onions hanging out of his burger, or the fact that Scott shoveled things into his mouth.

Scott offered Warren some fries, which Warren gracefully took with a fork, delicately dipping it into the ketchup and daintily eating it. The man's table manners astounded him. How could anyone be neat with French fries? He'd probably eat his burger with a fork and knife. Scott stared with shame at his hand that was covered in burger and fry grease. There was ketchup under his nails.

"Scott, it's not a society dinner. Don't worry about it," Warren snickered, noting how Scott was acting.

Scott grinned sheepishly and finished his dinner. They split a dessert, and Scott was even pleased that Warren was not afraid to
spoon fight with him over the last few bites. Scott gave up under Warren's vicious spoon assault, and let the winged mutant have the last of it.

As promised, Warren purchased two new jackets for Scott and his new clothes. Scott wondered if the Professor could afford all this. Warren apparently knew nothing about budgets. But, what the hell.

Both men were relatively content when they got onto Scott's souped up motorcycle. Scott firmly attached their purchases to the back of the bike, and hopped in front, speeding away from the mall and the people. An instant sense of relief flooded both men once they entered the long tree-lined drive to the mansion. It seemed as if they were alone. Warren's arms tightened around Scott's torso, and Scott found himself enjoying the sensation of Warren's face buried in the back of his shoulder.

"You like going fast?" Scott asked, shouting to be heard over the wind.

"Sure!" Warren shouted back.

Scott grinned and pressed a button on his bike, sending both men into speeds well into the two-hundred realm. Warren whooped and clung to Scott for dear life, as Scott clung to his bike, grinning happily. He loved taking his motorcycle to the limit.

He slowed down as they approached the mansion, not wanting to accidentally go through one of the walls at this speed. Warren was grinning ear to ear. "When my wings are better, I'll match you on your bike!" he cried.

"Like hell you can fly that fast!" Scott shouted.

"Like hell I can! You'll see!" Warren said with glee.

Scott pulled up to the mansion drive near midnight, and realized that Jean was standing out there waiting for him, a frown on her pretty face. Logan stood beside her, and he wore a sort of smirk on his face. Scott slowed down, the smile wiped from his face.

"Scott Summers! Why didn't you tell me you left? I went crazy looking for you! We had a training session this evening with the kids, and you never showed! And we were supposed to have dinner!" Jean scolded, sounding frighteningly maternal.

Warren stiffened behind Scott and stepped off the bike, looking between Jean and Scott. "Good night, Scott. See you tomorrow," he said in a subdued voice, his good mood erased. Warren crept away, and Scott watched him leave wishing *he* could avoid this little lover's quarrel as easily.

Scott sighed and stepped off his bike as well, facing Jean and hanging his head. He had actually forgotten about the training
session and dinner with Jean. Scott was the type of man who even remembered anniversaries and birthdays.

"Jean, I'm sorry," Scott began, turning red, noting Logan's insufferable smirk. He felt instantly ashamed of his day with Warren,
a day spent being the young man he really was, rather than the old man everyone thought he was.

"Sorry?? Scott, how irresponsible can you be? All those kids were depending on you! I was depending on you! This isn't like you, Scott. You're acting like, like..." Jean said sharply. A look of mild rebellion crept across Scott`s face.

"Like a twenty-four-year-old who wanted to go out and hang out with his friends? Fuck off, Jean, that's what I am. The training session was extracurricular, and I'm sure you did fine on your own. As for dinner, I'm sure Logan filled in quite well for me. From what I've seen, the only thing he hasn't done in my place yet is fuck you, unless you've started that already, too," Scott spat, instantly angry. All the doubts that had been brewing came to the forefront of his mind, and Logan's insufferable smirk over Scott's absences just rubbed him the wrong way.

"Scott, I..." Jean's eyes opened wide. "Scott, we're not... We're just friends. That's like saying Warren and you are sleeping
together."

"Maybe I should start," Scott replied, enjoying the shocked look on Logan's face. "At least Warren enjoys my company enough that I don't have to schedule a damn dinner with him just to get some attention."

And with that rejoinder, Scott stalked away from Jean.