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An explosion had gone off somewhere in front of him. He barely had time to look up before he saw someone falling midair—Bobby. The blast must have thrown him from one of his ice bridges.

"Warren?"

 He doesn't remember screaming out, but his throat goes raw nonetheless. Before he can think, he's speeding off to catch his teammate, pushing himself to just be a little faster, to please just make it in time.

"Warren."

He catches a now defrosted, passed out Bobby, the force of the impact nearly breaking his balance. He maneuvers through the chaos around them and manages to get them both to the ground. He notices their leader nearby. 

"Iceman's breathing, but unconscious," he informs Scott.

Scott doesn't tear his eyes away from the battle when addressing him. "Get him out of here. Fall back, both of you." 

"Warren."

"What about the fight—?"

"Don't worry about it, just get yourself and Iceman out of here."

"But—"

"Angel!" Scott's tone stops Warren in his tracks. "You can't help here. Marvel Girl, Beast, and I have got this. You're better off helping Iceman right now. Now go!" 

"Warren!" The shout snaps Warren from his thoughts.. Jean's concerned face is in front of him, clearly having been trying to get his attention for some time. "You done with that plate? Pretty sure it's cold now, and we're filling up the dishwasher." She points behind her, where it seems she and Hank had been cleaning up the kitchen. Dinner had ended a while ago, and his meal still sat in front of him only half-eaten. He wasn't hungry anymore.

"Yeah...yeah I'm done. Here," he pushes the plate towards her as he gets up, "I think I'm gonna retire for the night actually. Feeling sleepy all of a sudden."

"Oh…okay then. Sleep well. Goodnight." 

Warren nods in acknowledgement, waving bye to Hank, missing the concerned glances the two exchanged as he left for his room. A little alone time would do him good, he thinks. Their last battle against the Brotherhood had been a few days ago now, but his body—and mind—still felt like they were recovering. He felt tense and upset in a way that he knew was bringing the mood down around him, and he wasn't one for ruining other people's vibes.

You can't help here.

He knows Scott hadn't meant anything by it. It was just the truth of the moment. He would be of more use helping his injured teammate evacuate than he would getting caught up in another one of Mastermind's illusions, or one of the Scarlet Witch's hexes. It was logical. It didn't stop a pit from forming in his stomach. He had felt so useless.

And it wasn't just that battle, that day. He's noticed a concerning streak during their missions. Besides reconnaissance and transportation, he's of very little use to the team. He loves his wings; he's adept at using them now after all those sessions in the danger room, but compared to Jean's telekinesis, Bobby's ice, hell even Hank's enhanced strength and agility? He's functionally useless in a combat setting. And a fear was starting to set in, to take hold in his mind. What if everyone else thought so too?

He's used to only being seen for his money. Expects it, even. But things were supposed to be different here, with the X-Men. Here, he would be on equal footing with the rest of his peers, part of a team. And he loves his team! He liked Jean from the moment he met her, of course. He thinks Bobby is funny, even if a little immature, and Hank is great company whenever they manage to get him out of his lab. Hell, he's even starting to get along with Scott, getting used to his up-tight and high strung nature. But comradery only goes as far as he can contribute to the cause. This "dream" of the Professor's. If he proves to not be cut out for it, who's to say Xavier wouldn't bench him? Just keep him around to collect checks for the school while his friends go out and actually try and change the world.

He passes by Bobby's room on the way to his own and sees the mutant on the floor playing a game. His eyes catch on the walking boot on the younger's leg. It's not a serious injury; just a stress fracture, apparently.. Bobby's new and improved ice form had taken most of the impact, and he's already on track to be field-ready again within the month. 

Warren feels that pit return to his stomach, again.. He feels guilty. Which is ridiculous! It isn't like he'd caused the explosion; he'd saved Bobby. And yet…

I could've done more, he thinks I should be able to do more. He quickens his pace to his room. The faster he gets in bed, the quicker he can fall asleep, the quicker he can stop spiraling. He can get over this. He needs to. He's supposed to be the carefree and charming one, all put together. Like a Worthington. He doesn't need to ponder problems that only exist in his head.

When he gets to his room, he hurries to close the door behind him and lean against it. His wings splay out behind him as his head hits the door. He really is exhausted, but he doubts he'd get a good night's sleep. He changes into his pajamas anyway, lays down, and pretends to rest till he eventually does drift off into a dreamless sleep.

---

Warren doesn't think the danger room is helping him with his particular problem. They're running team simulations using a new sentinel decoy the Professors added, and everyone (sans Bobby) has fallen into their roles, himself included. His training, though, is more an agility course than anything else. He's practically perfected the art of weaving between sentinel limbs, going up and around as the big ol’ thing swats at him.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Jean clumsily float herself higher to try and get a better vantage point. It's clear from looking at her that flying is still new for her, as it's taking all her concentration to keep herself steady. That doesn't stop the flash of insecurity that skirts across his mind. 

Once Jean masters flying…they won't need me anymore. 

She'll be able to do everything he can, and more. There'd be no competition between the two of them, who the others would want to keep on the team either. Between a beautiful girl with an actually useful mutation versus the rude rich kid with hollow bones, it's a no-brainer.

That ugly feeling settles in his gut again just as he looks up and realizes he's about to crash face-first into the sentinel's hand. He turns sharply, just in time to avoid a broken nose, but not before colliding straight into Hank who had been climbing up the side of the robot.

“Room, end program,” he hears Scott shout as he hits the ground. The faux-sentinel stops in its tracks as the room starts to come back into focus just in time to see Jean and Scott run up to them. “Are you both okay?”

Hank is up on his feet first, brushing off imaginary dust from his shoulders. “Worry not, dear leader. Nothing broken or bruised on my end. What say you, Warren?”

“Oh, uh…Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bruised ego,” he replies quickly. “Sorry about that. Guess I got distracted thinking.” 

“Well, whatever it was, I hope it won't affect you out in the field.” Warren's jaw tightens a bit. Right, in the field. He doesn't say anything to that, just nods in acknowledgement. “I think we should end training here for today. We’ll have another session at the end of the week”

Warren can hear Jean and Hank groan at the prospect of more training, and he himself is not especially thrilled at the thought of another repeat of today's accident. He stretches his wings, extending them as far as they'll go, and is thinking about heading in for another early night.

“Hey Warren!”

Warren pauses to acknowledge Jean, waiting at the door. “Jean, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to make sure you're okay. I know you said you were fine but…I don't know, I can’t explain it, I just felt like I should check up on you.” She scrunches up her face while thinking in a way Warren finds oddly cute.

“Really! I’m all good,” he leans down a little, pushing into her personal space as he passes by, “though it sure helps to know such a lovely lady like yourself is looking out for me.” She swats his arm for that, but he still catches the slight smile on her face. Totally worth it.

“Seriously Warr, if something's up you know you can talk to me. Not just about X-men stuff.”

“Thanks Jean. But really, I'm fine.” She doesn't look convinced, though resigns with a sigh and a wave goodbye to go get changed into civvies. Warren drops his smile as Jean turns a corner. Surely his insecurity isn’t that easy to pick up on…is it? No, surely not. Jean’s just been… more intuitive than usual. The last thing he needs, though, is for the rest of the team to pick up on his bad mood. No need to get himself benched early.

He doesn’t feel like going to bed all of a sudden; not with all of this anxiety running through him. He peeks into the hall to check that everyone’s cleared out, and then turns right back towards the danger room.

“Room, run aerial obstacle course.”

---

The X-Men don't even make it to next week's training session before they get caught up with their next villain of the week. Some guy trying to rob the Metropolitan, blah blah blah, be careful out there team yadda yadda. Warren is ready to deal with it and go home, frankly. He's been pushing himself a lot more with the extra training in the danger room, but all it had amounted to was nothing but sore muscles and a worse attitude. The others are also clearly starting to catch on to his shift in mood. Jean has continued her little check-ins, while Bobby has been amping up his jokes to try and get Warren to crack a smile. Hank hasn’t changed too much in his behavior towards him, but if he happened to clean up the kitchen when it was Warren’s turn… Well, neither of them brought it up. Only Scott hasn’t changed a single thing, though Warren suspects that's because Scott hasn’t even noticed something was off with him. Typical. Scott wouldn’t notice if Warren was dying unless it affected his performance ‘on the field’. Sometimes it feels like that's all the guy ever cares about.

“Be ready to fight, guys,” Scott announces as they reach a museum side entrance. “Professor says we’re not dealing with a mutant, but we don’t know if he’s got other types of powers or weapons. On top of that, there are still civilians inside and we’re still down a member. Stay alert. Marvel Girl, Beast, focus on getting people out safely. Angel, you’re with me.” Warren’s head shoots up to look at Scott. He has his jaw set in that way that means he's planning, meaning it was probably time for Warren to tune in.

They enter the building and immediately split off into their respective groups: Jean and Hank upstairs to clear the top floors of civilians, Warren and Scott on the ground floor to guard the exit and hopefully catch their perp.

They wind up in the medieval armory section when they spot the guy up on a balcony. He's dressed in all-purple with what looks to be bandoliers across his chest and wrists; and with him, a bag full of what Warren assumes are stolen artifacts. Typical bad guy probably trying to snag some items to sell to the highest bidder on the black market.

“Oh, great, they didn't even bother to send actual heroes to fight me. Just some runts,” the costumed thief sneers down at them.

“We don't wanna be here either pal! So how ‘bout we just put back whatever it is that you grabbed and we can both be on our way?” Warren shouts up at him.

“Hmmm…tempting. How about instead, you stay exactly where you are, and I get away with my loot?” From behind him, his free hand whips out what looks like a modified gun, and shoots something that's definitely not a bullet at both Warren and Scott. It's only after dodging the initial shots that he sees what looks like a pile of hardened goop where he was once standing.

“Wait a second,” Warren's eyes go wide with recognition, “Ah man, you're that Paste Peter guy, aren't you?”

“It's Paste-Pot-Pete, you brat," he squawks indignantly. “And it's Trapster now. Remember that!”

“Angel, you know who we're dealing with?”

“Yeah, he's a Fantastic Four rogue I think. Shoots glue at you ‘n stuff. I only know what Bobby told me, which wasn't much.”

“Better than nothing.” Scott dodges another shot of paste as it breaks display glass, jumping behind a knight mannequin before examining the room. He's clenching his jaw again. “Angel, see if you can goad him into coming down from the balcony. I'm gonna try for one of those banners.” 

Warren nods, and gets to work.

He flaps his wings and launches himself over to the Trapster, dodging more shots on the way. When he finally manages to land next to the guy, Warren attempts to crowd him, pushing towards the edge before sweeping his legs with one of his wings. It works; the Trapster does fall backwards, but not before shooting a flurry of shots towards Angel.

Warren follows after, carefully dodging about three shots before number four hits his wing, sticking him to the support beam behind him.

Scott shouts, “Angel!” just before Trapster spins around on the floor and blasts Cyclops right in the face, sending him back into another display. 

“Cyke!” Warren struggles against the paste on his wings, wincing at the pull on his feathers. Whatever this goop is made of, he's stuck. Trapster attempts to get up, before faltering and stumbling to the ground again.

"Fucking kids twisted my ankle," he says. “You. I have you to thank for that, don't I? Only fair I return the favor.”

Trapster limps his way over to the pinned mutant, gun gripped tight by its muzzle as he lifts it high above his head. Warren moves to try and block the hit. Trapster never gets the chance though, as  suddenly he’s getting bumrushed from the side. Warren can only watch as Scott rises from the floor, now wielding a sword and shield, his visor completely covered in a hardened paste.

“Angel," Scott raises his shield, sword at the ready, "I'm gonna need you to be my eyes.” 

His heart skips a beat. 

Holy shit. Warren's only allowed a moment to ogle Scott before the purple heap on the ground starts to move again. 

“Uh—He's in front of you.” Trapster makes it onto his knees, then aims his gun at Cyclops. “Shield!”

Scott blocks it just as it hits, lunging forward to swipe at the villain with the flat edge of the blade. He knocks the gun out of his hand, so the Trapster winds back his arm for a punch, instead. “Duck.”

Scott ducks, holding the shield above him before shooting up, the metal colliding with face as the perp gets knocked back, right into Warren's range. With the side of his body still free of glue, he strains his core and chest muscles to lift himself up and kick Trapster back to the ground. With a huff, he informs Scott, “He's on the floor right in front of you.”

Cyclops moves forward, dragging his sword on the floor until the tip of the blade meets the man writhing on the floor. Scott then kneels down, and with the handle of the sword, strikes Trapster in the back of the head and renders him unconscious.

Scott looks around aimlessly, in every direction but Warren's. “Is he finally out?”

“Yeah,” Warren breathes a sigh of relief. “You got him pretty good.”

“Good,” Scott replies matter-of-factly. He drops the shield and sword before blindly feeling along his belt. Only then does Warren notice one of the museum flags tucked into the loop of Scott's belt, as he pulls it out to knot Trapsters hands securely behind his backs.

“Well look at you Mr. Boy Scout. Where'd you learn to fight like that?” 

Scott stops for a moment, like he's considering the question. “I trained for it,” he says, like it's obvious. “Do you think you can get this gunk off my visor?”

“Not unless you think you can get me off the wall without pulling any flight feathers.”

“Hmm…I'll do my best. Let me know if I hurt you.” 

Scott blindly feels around for the sword he just dropped. Once he finally finds it, he positions it between Warren's wing and the column, then starts to slowly chip away the dry glue; he takes time to readjust whenever he hears even the slightest hiss of pain from Warren.

They're about halfway through the task when Jean and Hank finally meet back up with them. Jean pauses at the state of the room before looking back at the two boys. “Looks like you had fun without us.”

“Oh yeah, just oodles." Warren nods his head towards the still unconscious fiend,. "Mind grabbing this jerk for us before he wakes up?” 

“Hey, isn't that that Paste-Pot-Pete guy?”

---

A knight in shining armor. That's all Warren could think about. Scott had been stripped of his powers, of his vision, and still proceeded to save the day; with a sword and shield no less. If that didn't make him a knight in shining armor, he didn't know what did. Though Warren supposed that'd make him the damsel in distress…that kind of soured the picture in his head, just a little.

Lost in thought, he barely notices the professor trying to get his attention. His focus only returns after a few pencil pokes from Bobby next to him. “Oh—Uh, what was the question?”

“I asked, what do you believe Homer’s usage of epithets was for?” The professor looked particularly exhausted over Warren's inattentiveness.

“Um, he used it to—uh…remember stuff.”

“Correct, Mr. Worthington. See, Homer’s epics were oral traditions, so to aid in memorization…” 

Warren takes that as a sign to zone back out again. He never has been a good student, and he isn't gonna start now. He drifts back to that fight at the Met. How even though both of them had their powers effectively taken, Scott had taken it in stride without any hesitation whatsoever.

And he still managed to succeed. I trained for it, that's what he had said. How the hell do you train for blind swordfighting? On second thought…Scott was just neurotic enough of a guy to probably have five different back up plans involving blind swordfighting. That actually gets Warren thinking about his own training; clearly, doing it on his own in the danger room wasn't helping him improve as an X-Men. Maybe he needs a guiding hand, someone who could cater to what Warren was trying to improve on… An idea started forming in his mind.

“That will be all for today, students.” Professor Xavier’s voice rings out and snaps Warren back to the present, “I expect you all to keep up with your reading. You are dismissed.” 

Warren can't get out of his seat fast enough, only slowing down so his wings don't knock anything over on his way out. Passing by Bobby and Jean, the latter grabs him on the way out. 

“Hey Warren, I was wondering…Have you been watching any shows lately? Like, Merlin or something?”

What?

“What?”

“I don't know why, but for some reason I keep thinking about fantasy medieval stuff, and you keep coming to mind.” 

It's Bobby's turn to look confused. “Jean, what the hell are you talking about?” 

Jean scrunches her face up, looking for words to help explain herself better. “Just forget I said anything. Go, Scott’s over in the library if you wanna catch him.” She waves him off.

“Thanks,” Warren says, starting off towards the library. He pauses after a second, before turning back to where Jean and Bobby have gone back to chatting. 

Wait.

How did Jean know I needed to talk to Scott? 

It doesn't matter. Just Jean and that intuition of hers. He makes it to the library, knocking on the door before entering and, just like Jean said he'd be, Scotty was there, Odyssey in hand. 

“You’re already doing the reading?”

“I like getting it out of the way.” Scott scoffs, “Not everyone saves their homework for the last second.”

   Warren shrugs. “What can I say, studying’s never been my strong suit.” He looks at Scott for a long second, then says,“Actually…I came to ask for a favor.”

Scott puts his book down. “...What kind of favor?”

“Well—so you know how you totally beat that Pete guy’s ass back at the museum?” Scott nods, his expression unreadable behind his ruby glasses. Warren continues, “Well I was hoping- wondering if you could maybe teach me how to fight like that. Without the swords of course.”

“You want to do sparring sessions with me?”

“Yeah.” Warren can feel his confidence slipping the longer it takes Scott to give him an answer. “Would that be something you’d consider?”

Scott puts his hand contemplatively over his mouth and does that jaw clench thing of his. “I suppose it would be good for you to know some hand to hand. In case you’re in a crammed space or can’t fly for some reason.”

“Then it’s a deal, Mr. Summers?” Warren extends his hand. Scott ponders a second longer before taking his hand, and shaking on it.

“Yeah, it’s a deal. When do we start”

—

Scott shows up to their first session in uniform, and in retrospect, Warren should’ve expected that. 

“You know you could’ve just worn sweats.” Warren gestures to his own t-shirt and shorts, “This isn’t exactly official X-Men business.”

“Sorry.” Scott rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment, “It’s just we always get in uniform for training in the danger room.” Seeing Scott being bashful puts a small smile on his face. It’s not often he gets to see their fearless leader look unsure like this.

“Dude, no need to apologize. Now you know, next time just wear something comfortable.”

“Our uniforms are comfortable though…” He hears Scott mumble to himself, “Well then, let’s start with baseline rules. You mentioned not using mutations so we won’t, anything we do is going to be grounded. No flying. And second, don’t worry about hurting me. I won’t be holding back so I don’t expect you to. Just let me know if you’re seriously hurt and we can stop.” Warren nods in acknowledgement. Scott then ushers towards the center of the room. 

“The goal is simple,” Scott gets into a fighting stance, “I want you to pin me to the ground.” Warren’s face heats up.

“Woah, moving a little fast there, Slim” He tries to joke. Scott tilts his head to the side in confusion.

“What? No, I mean try to knock me off my feet.” 

“Yeah, I know. I was joking.”

 “Oh, Okay.” Warren matches Scott’s stance and waits for his next instructions. Instructions never come, as next thing he knows his back meets the floor. 

“What the fuck, man!” He sits up, looking up at Scott’s stupid stoic expression. “Didn’t even count to three or anything.”

“Villains don’t typically announce they’re going to hit you, do they? Consider this lesson one, always be ready for an attack.” Scott extends a hand and helps Warren back to his feet, “The last thing you want is someone getting the upper hand because you weren’t ready.” 

So I can be as on edge as you all the time? Warren thinks. This is going to be a bigger test of ego than he anticipated. He knew going into this that Scott is a better fighter than him, witnessed it personally, but now he’s certain he was going to get his ass handed to him for the next few however many sessions. “Don’t you have any fighting tips like ‘go for the face’ or something?”

“Don't go for the face, actually. You’ll rarely do significant damage, and will mostly just piss off your opponent. However, if you have to hit them in the face, for whatever reason, try to blind them or break their nose.” 

Huh, good to know.

“Ready to go again?” Scott shifts back into the fighting position. Warren just sighs and puts his fists up again.

The next few rounds last significantly longer. With Warren managing to land a few jabs, but still always ending up on the floor and trying again. This latest round is looking to be more of the same. Warren dodges the first few swipes, but every punch of his is blocked. At the same time he was concentrating on keeping his wings as tucked in as possible. Not only is he fighting the urge to put some space between himself and Scott by taking off, he really can’t afford throwing off his balance with the weight of his wings. 

After what feels like forever, he eventually manages to punch Scott in the jaw. Warren doesn’t get much time to celebrate though, as Scott quickly grabs his extended arm and with ease flips Warren onto his back. Groaning at the blossoming pain in his wings and shoulders, Warren is vaguely aware of Scott kneeling down next to him. 

“Good job on landing a blow, but remember what I said about going for the face.” He helps Warren up, and decidedly doesn't let go, “Next time try hitting me right here.”

With Warren’s hand still in his, Scott guides Warren’s fist in the center of his chest. “Getting anybody in the chest is a good way to knock the wind out of them, but if you can, try going specifically here in the solar plexus.”

Scott drops his hand, and Warren misses the feeling. Which confuses him. Why would he miss holding Scott's hand? His face feels warm, and is probably red. 

Can Scott see if I’m blushing with that visor? God, I hope not.

“We can stop here for today.”

“Huh? Oh, that's it?” He asks, disappointed.

“That’s it. I’ve got a good idea on what we can focus on next time,” Scott begins walking towards the danger room exit, “And I don't want you seriously hurt or sore. We still need you out there.” Hearing that makes something warm bloom in his chest. Warren doesn’t deliberate on it, and just follows Scott out to get changed.

---

Warren is bored out of his mind. It’s a calm Saturday and the X-men were having a day off; no class, no training, no missions. It gave him time to nurse his aching bones. Scott's personal training sessions were kicking his ass. He wasn't getting wiped out like the first few times, but Warren still hadn’t managed to knock Scott down. It was really starting to bum him out. 

Besides sparring with Scott, there hadn't been much to do in the mansion. There was team training which kept his flying sharp, and class which he never pays attention to anyways. Beyond that was just large swaths of downtime. He could go to the movies, but there's nothing good playing. He didn’t feel like eating out, didn’t feel like doing homework, or reading or anything. The fact that he’s sore all over didn't exactly motivate him either. 

He's moping on his bed when he hears a knock on his door. Making his way over, he opens the door to one Jean Grey. “I'm not interrupting anything, am I?” She asks.

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you'd come shopping with me. I want to see if the mall has anything new, and I figured you would want to get out of the house.” 

“Why, Ms. Grey, you read my mind. I would love to.” 

They end up taking his car, and spend a couple hours shopping around. Jean insists on paying for her own things, but Warren always manages to slip his card in before her. He compromises by letting her buy them ice cream from the food court.

“You know, you're impossible sometimes.” Jean sits at an empty table with her mint chocolate chip. “I am perfectly capable of buying my own clothes, Mr. Worthington.”

“What's the point of having all this money if I can't spoil my friends? And, look, I let you buy the ice cream, so we're even.”

“Yeah, like, eight dollar ice cream, when you've spent I don't even want to know how much on me.” She eats another spoonful with a pout. Cute. 

“Consider it as thanks for getting me out of the house.” He starts digging into his black cherry and chocolate ice cream. The silence that forms between them is comfortable; the mall ambience filling in the space. He's never really had a friend like Jean before, or any of the X-Men for that matter. He'd had one or two genuine friendships back in boarding school, though even then, his status as a Worthington was always there; always lining every interaction. And when wings started sprouting from his back, he had no choice but to push away even those friends. He was forced to keep a distance from everyone lest someone discover him. 

He doesn't have to worry about that with the X-Men, though. Obviously, he doesn't have to hide his mutation, but beyond that he doesn't have to hide himself. He isn't worried about doing the wrong thing, saying something ‘unbecoming of his status'. They couldn't care less if he’s some rich heir; to them, he’s just Warren. Perhaps that’s why he feels like he needs to prove himself so bad. This team is important to him, and it would kill him to lose them because he can't keep up.

“Warren.” He looks up from his melting ice cream and locks eyes with Jean. “You know we care about you, right?”

“I do. I care about you guys too. Why?”

“Okay, good. It just felt important to tell you.” Jean eats her last scoop. “I also wanted to ask something. Not related to anything and potentially invasive.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you and Scott seeing each other or something?” 

Warren chokes on a cherry.

“What?”

“I mean like are you guys going out or—”

“I know what you meant. No! No no no. We are definitely not going out. Why would you even ask that? Does it look like we're dating? Oh god, does it look like we're dating?” His face is heating up. What a ridiculous question, he'd never date Scott in a million years. And yet, his pulse was starting to race at the thought.

“No, it doesn't look like- well. Look, I just noticed that you and Scott have been spending some one-on-one time in the danger room,” she shrugs, “and between you and me, he's been talking about you more. I just thought, I don't know, maybe you guys had something going on.”

“Scott's been talking about me?” 

Jean smiles at him, like he's fallen into a trap. “All good things. Don't worry your pretty little head.” He feels himself blush again. “What's with the danger room solo time then, if not to secretly smooch or whatever?”

“I would never—” He starts loudly. A few eyes from the food court turn towards the noise he's making. He lowers his voice and tries again, “First of all, Jean, I would never ‘secretly smooch’ anyone in the danger room, much less Slim. And Secondly, Scott's just been teaching me some fighting techniques.”

“Fighting techniques? Is that what they're calling it these days?” Warren glares at her.  "Okay then, why?” 

Warren pauses for a second before deciding to tell Jean everything. Bobby getting hurt, what Scott had said to him, his fear of getting kicked off the team. “Oh, Warren. We'd never kick you out. You're as valuable a teammate as any of us.”

“I know you guys wouldn't do that. It's just—I felt so useless that day. Like I had let Scott down; let the team down.” He hunches into himself, stirring his now melted ice cream. “I don't want to feel like that again.”

“...Does Scott know this?”

“No, why would I tell him? You know how Scotty is. He's not exactly the king of emotional sensitivity.”

“True. Still, his opinion clearly matters to you. It might be worth it opening up to him.”

“Open up to Scott Summers? Ha, good one.” 

They drop the subject and go home not too long after. The conversation is still running through his head when he goes to bed that day. Would it be so bad? Being vulnerable with Scott, to have that heart to heart? He doesn't come up with an answer, opting to close his eyes and turn his brain off instead.

---

Today was a bad day. It was just one of those days where everything that can go wrong does. He stubbed his toe while waking up, the milk in his cereal had gone bad, and the Professor had pulled him aside to scold him on his missing assignments. The conversation he had with Jean was still rattling away in his brain. Something about it was just worming its way under his skin. Needless to say, he wasn't in prime sparring condition.

He could feel it too. He and Scott had only been at it for a little over half an hour, but already his punches felt slow, his movement groggy. What felt like weeks of practice completely undone because he can't get his head in the game.

Warren hit the floor again for the umpteenth time that day. He didn't even process Scott hitting him till he’s already on the ground.

"You all good to go again?" Scott reaches out a hand to help him up.

No, Warren thinks, I'm tired, I'm sore, I'm not getting any better. It doesn't even look like Scott's breaking a sweat. Maybe…maybe he just isn't meant to fight. Maybe Warren can just be the pretty face, bank roll the team, sit on the sidelines while they do what he clearly can't. Then he feels that pit in his stomach again.

He takes Scott's hand. "Sure. One more round." Scott clenches his jaw as he helps Warren back up.

“Alright. One more.” 

The next fight feels different. Scott actually coaches him. 

“You're leaving yourself wide open.” 

Warren adjusts. 

“Don't just stay in one spot, move your feet.” 

He shifts more, and slowly he feels himself getting his edge back. 

“Strike faster. Come on, Angel.” He's dodging, he's blocking, he’s slowly channeling his frustrations. Warren can feel his heart pumping hard in his chest. “Knock me down.”

As if on command, Warren manages to place a leg behind Scott and sweep him to the ground. He follows through, pinning Scott's hands down and sitting on top of him to hold him down. For that moment the only sound in the danger room is their heavy breathing. 

“Nice job, Angel.” Scott's smiling up at him, and Warren realizes he's smiling back.

 He finally did it. He finally won a match. They stay like that a moment, catching their breaths before Scott clears his throat, turning his head to the side. “Um, Warren? Think you can get off me now?”

“Oh, right.” He all but scrambles off the brunette. “Sorry ‘bout that.” 

“It’s fine.” Scott’s face is a mask of stoicism, save for the red blush creeping up his neck. “I think that's all for today. See you later.” He quickly turns on his heels, but before he can get too far, Warren grabs his arm. As Scott looks at him expectantly, Warren feels his mouth go dry. 

He hadn’t really meant to do that.

“I—um…well,” he clears his throat, “thank you, Scott. Genuinely.” 

“Oh…You’re welcome,” Scott replies awkwardly.

“I mean it,” he drops Scott’s arm in lieu of massaging the back of his neck, "I know you probably don't care, but there's been some internal stuff that I’ve been dealing with. Ever since Bobby hurt his leg, I've been in this kind of funk. Like I could've done more that day. And I don't know, maybe I took your words to heart or something. These fighting sessions have helped get me out of that. So, thank you.”

He can see Scott raise his eyebrows a little from behind his glasses, the flush on his face still present. “Wow. I…don’t know what to say.”

“Don't feel like you need to say anything.” He starts to make his way to the exit. “I know you’re not great with words outside of your big leader speeches. Just felt like I should tell you.” Really, it was Jean’s idea, but Scott doesn’t need to know that. Scott still looks like he’s trying to find a good response, before shaking his head with a smile and following Warren out of the danger room.

“Now that extra training is over, got any plans? Or are you gonna shut yourself in your room like a hermit?”

“I’m not a hermit,” Scott says indignantly. “But, yeah, I was just planning on staying in and finishing up our reading.”

“Nerd.”

“Have you even started the assigned reading, Warren?” Warren's pointed silence says enough. “Thought so.”

“Theoretically, could I pay you to just do the assignment for me?”

“No.”

“A hundred bucks?”

“No.”

“Five hundred.”

“No.” 

They reach Scott’s room, hovering in front of the door. Normally, the two would have parted by now, but Warren doesn’t quite feel like ending the day here. Hanging out with Scott has really turned his shitty day around, and as odd as it was to admit, he wants to continue being around him.

“How about this then? Let's make another deal. I'll chill in your room and do the reading with you, and you get to spend more time with me.”

“Oh, I get the honor of spending time with you?” There's a faint smile on his lips as he says it. “How tempting.” 

Feeling bold, Warren leans into Scott’s space and, instead of a hand, extends his pinky towards him. “What do you say, Slim? Deal?”

Scott curls his pinky finger around Warren’s. 

“Deal.”

---

For as much as Warren’s grown to enjoy Scott's company, he'd prefer to not spend it in the infirmary. And also not while nursing a fresh set of injuries. In spite of all the sores and aches he's been sporting from his and Scott's extra training, he still managed to come out without any long lasting damage. 

The mission they had just come back from hadn’t been as kind.

As was typical of him, Warren hadn't paid much attention to the details of what they were stopping the Brotherhood from doing this time around, but he could tell from the bits and pieces he had picked up on that it wasn't anything good. It’s the Brotherhood of evil mutants. What he vividly remembers is ending up in a cramped room, Toad’s ugly mug laughing as he blocked the exit and Scott on the ground clutching his arm. He doesn't even remember much of the fight that ensued, so consumed with adrenaline. He remembers channeling everything he had been taught into himself, keeping himself light on his feet and his wings close to his body in order to maximize the limited room he had to move. But most vividly, he remembers summoning all the skill—and anger—he could into knocking the smile off that fly-eating bastard's face.

“Thanks for saving my ass back there.” 

Warren snaps back to the present. 

Scott was sitting on a cot next to him in the mansion’s infirmary, icing what's turned out to be a dislocated shoulder. It's hard to tell what Scott's looking at behind his glasses on a good day. At the moment, he's presumably staring straight ahead at the wall in front of him; the hand not icing his shoulder messing with a loose thread at the hem of his tee, wrapping the string around his finger till it turns purple. Scott opens his mouth a few times before shutting it, as if finding his words. 

“You fought well. I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there," he says eventually.

Warren's eyes widen, the words surprising him. Surprise isn't really the right word, moreso that the compliment made his chest warm. He might even dare to call it butterflies. He clears his throat before responding. “Well…you could say I had a good teacher.”

Scott shifts to face him, and really examines Warren's face. “Seriously, thank you. I know I'm not the best at handing out praise, but I really do appreciate you, Warr. And not just for today. Whenever we're in a tough spot, or whenever someone needs help, I can trust that you'll be the first to jump in and help no matter the circumstances. You're a reliable teammate, and…and a good friend. I don't think I tell you that often enough.” 

Warren's heart swells again in a way that's undeniable. And with it, something finally clicks into place.

Oh.

Oh. 

Of course.

“Hey Scott,” he says softly, “I think I'm gonna do something stupid.” 

It's as much of a warning as he can get out before he leans, grabbing Scott by the face and kissing him stupid. He can feel Scott stiffen at the sudden contact and prepares himself for the backlash. To get shoved off, yelled at, perhaps even punched for his audacity. Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time in his life. Instead, he's pleasantly surprised when Scott reciprocates the kiss; Warren even feels Scott grab his sleeve tight with his good arm, leaning more into his space. 

They stay like that for a bit before Warren starts to feel his lungs begging for air, not missing how Scott follows his lips for a second before pulling back. His face is flushed all the way to his ears and his body has returned to being stiff as a board. 

“I—um…Thank you.”

Warren can’t help the laugh that comes out of him. “You’re welcome? Y’know, most people don’t say ‘thank you’ after receiving a kiss.”

“Sorry.” Scott shrinks in on himself just a bit, ears still red.

“No, no, Scott it's okay. Just a little funny is all.” He leans forward again, face a hair's breadth away from Scott's. “I'm glad to know I still have that effect on people.”

“Infuriatingly so, it would seem.” Scott smiles just slightly, resting his own head on Warren's. “So, what do we do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it looks like I'm going to be out of commission for the time being,” he gently lifts his bad arm for demonstration, “ so we won't be able to continue our sessions in the Danger Room 'til it's all healed. And by some miracle neither of us have leftover class work—”

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Scott huffs a quick acknowledgement.

“It’s just—I would like to continue spending time with you.” Call it rose tinted glasses or whatever, but Warren swears that that is the most romantic declaration he's ever been told.

“Well, Mr. Summers, there's always things to do outside this mansion. What say you to a nice evening drive? Just the two of us.” Warren gets up from the bed and takes Scott's good hand into his own.

“I think that sounds like a great idea, Mr. Worthington.” Scott gets up and follows the blonde, thankful to get out of the sterile room they're in.

“Let's get out of here, then.”