2013.04.05 - Time Warped

It's been a typical Friday night at Anita Bella, and Fern's been busy, hustling herself to keep the customers happy and well fed. She was at the table of a couple on their first date, having brought them a complimentary appetizer and was taking their order when, in the middle of a sentence, she just... froze for a few seconds. It was just long enough to be noted as odd, before suddenly she seemed to snap back into herself, jumping back as if startled, and looking around, eyes wide. "I'm... I'm sorry," she stammers to the couple, backing away. Thankfully, they look more concerned than angry, and Fern excuses herself, finding Jerry to beg him to fill in. He wouldn't question normally, but the look in her eyes has him agreeing even more quickly, and he takes her order pad to finish their order. Letting herself out the back door into the alley, Fern takes her phone out and types in a text quickly. Warren... at work... I was... can't explain. can you come?

She hits send, then leans on the building and slowly sinks down to crouch in it's shadow, waiting to see if he'll reply.

Texting and flying might be a little safer than texting and doing...almost anything else, but only as long as one is above even the highest of skyscrapers. As soon as Warren got the text, he left what he was doing and darted out the balcony, heading towards Brooklyn. He does text back,

On my way. Are you ok?

This isn't a casual flight this time as he pushes his speed a bit. It actually doesn't take too long for him to get there...perhaps ten minutes or so, and he ducks into the restaurant to try and find her.

Yes... no... i think?

The returned text is gloriously vague. Fern has time to speak to Anita, not telling her the exact truth, but instead saying it was a dizzy spell and Warren will be coming. So, as soon as the young man arrives, Anita herself leads him into the kitchen, and through to a small break room where Fern is waiting. Anita barely has time to open the door and step aside before Fern is up and moving toward Warren, arms seeking immediately to go around him as she breathes, "You're here."

Seeing that Fern isn't working, Warren grows more and more worried. Stepping into the break room and being accosted by Fern pretty much affirms it. He holds her tightly as she presses against him, "What's wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?" He tries to take a step back to look at her and see if there's any bruises or bleeding.

Fern loosens her hold but keeps one hand lightly clutched to Warren's sleeve as she looks down at herself. "I was hurt. But I'm not now." She stands on one foot, letting the other raise straight out, displaying her pink and blue tights. "I fell on my knees and my tights ripped and I was bleeding." Realizing that she's likely not making sense to him, Fern takes a breath, then gives Warren a shaky smile. "I'm ok. Can we... go somewhere? Please? It's nearly closing and Anita said I can go."

Angel looks down at the tights before he looks back to Fern, trying to follow her. "Sure...if you want to." He wouldn't have cared too much what Anita said anyhow if Fern is this upset. Reaching out to scoop Fern into his arms, he's more than happy to carry her outside and then fly back towards Manhattan with her. "Do you want to go home? Or to my place? We can clean you up a bit..."

Already planning to leave, Fern grabs a bag with her clothes, not waiting to change here at work, and slings it over her shoulder and across herself. She doesn't resist being carried, waving to Anita over Warren's shoulder to reassure the woman before they're outside. "Your place?" she asks, wanting somewhere that feels more secure than her little apartment.

It won't take too long for them to get there but Warren is trying to get an answer as to what's going on...although he'll shut up if asked. No one's going to hear them up in the sky, but he also doesn't want to nag.

Landing carefully on the balcony of his apartment, he sets Fern gently on her feet before unlocking the entrance. Once inside he asks, "Do you want anything to drink? Or...what can I do?"

Fern doesn't tell him to shut up, but she shakes her head, wanting these few minutes to just feel safe in Warren's arms. She's not inclined to let go of him until they're inside, and even then she pulls him close for a soft kiss, first. "Thank you," she whispers, breath warm on his lips, before she steps back. "Get me a glass of whatever you'll have? I need to use your bathroom a minute." She steps away, bag still slung around her, and disappears for a few minutes. When she returns she's in jeans and a t-shirt, feet bare and hair tousled from their flight. She's splashed some water on her face, and has gotten herself more together.

Angel watches Fern as she moves to the bathroom to clean up, but after a moment he sets about to getting something for them to drink. He looks at his liquor cabinet and pulls out some scotch...but also some juice, just in case she doesn't want the harder stuff. He also grabs some crackers and cheese to put on a plate...it's just a little something and it makes him feel useful.

"Need me to look at your knees? I have a first aid kit somewhere around here..."

Fern crosses to Warren, stepping up close again, shaking her head as she answers, "They're fine now. Whatever happened there.... then?... it didn't come here." She reaches out and taps the bottle of scotch, looking up to him. "Please?" There's a soft smile as she sees the plate of cheese and crackers, and she picks it up and goes out to the living room, sitting where they were when they watched the movie the other night. "I'm not exactly sure what happened. Someone said something about a different time and someone called Space Phantom." Her eyes lift to find Warren, puzzled but obviously working it through as she talks. "It was London, but not normal, now London."

Fern is offered his own tumbler of scotch as he goes to get another and join her on the sofa. "Who said that? And when was this? Did you go to an alternate dimension or something? How and why?" If seems that Warren isn't unfamiliar with the concept of alternative dimensions. "You've been to London? I'm confused."

Waiting for Warren to sit, Fern then scoots closer, wanting the security of someone near enough to touch. "Ok," she says, taking another deep breath. "There were others there, but I only knew Gabriel. He's my neighbor. He can... do stuff, too." It's vague but the meaning should be there. "They were all special, in costumes. One guy was dressed kinda like SpiderMan, but kinda not, and the others... no idea. I'm pretty sure two guys brought us all there. One guy was wearing purple coveralls and the other was named Alfred." She reaches out, taking up the glass and taking a swallow.

Lifting his arm, Warren then wraps it, and a wing, around Fern when she scoots closer next to him. "Purple coveralls?" He shakes his head as the 'costume' description doesn't sound familiar. "They took you to this alternative London? I mean...ok, I've heard of alternate dimensions but I have a hard time wrapping my head around them." But he's trying. "What happened there?" The scotch is good scotch...for those who know.

Fern knows that it burns like liquor she's had before, but she wouldn't know good scotch from bad if it hit her. Well, maybe if it hit her. She turns her head to look at Warren, her eyes grateful that he's trying. Of course, again, he's not really the type to just think her nuts, knowing what he does about the world. "Zombies happened there. I think it was... a possible future?" She doesn't sound exactly sure, but it's the closest she can do. With everything that went on, she doesn't remember all of what was said. "Apparently this guy called Zombie Lord was causing that and..." She pauses, then remembers what he said right before he turned to dust, "And stealing powers. There was no one left with powers because he had taken them all. I think." No, she's clearly not positive.

"Sounds like a pretty depressing future," and yes, Warren is trying...for Fern's sake. "But you got out, right?" He also takes a sip of the scotch, the drink quite familiar to him. "I read somewhere...maybe it was in a class in college...that there are so many possible futures that it's impossible to predict. Even a butterfly landing on a different flower could change a course..." He then tries for a little bit of levity, "Sounds like it would be a plot for one of your Horror movies."

Fern nods, settling against Warren's side warmly, letting her head rest back on his shoulder. "Yes, we won. Two of the guys in costumes were chanting something, trying to break whatever it was that had the zombies up. I had a gun," her tone changes briefly, more excited, "there were so many weapons! Whoever that Alfred was, he sure was equipped." Her voice drops again as she goes on, "We got to the roof, and they were about to break down the door. When they did I shot one in the shoulder, and the second one... just as I pulled the trigger he turned into that Zombie Lord dude. I... I think if I'd had some sort of power for him to take he wouldn't have died." She does smile at his remark, tilting her head back to look up to him again. "It could have been, yeah. See? I've been training all this time, for that moment," she teases back. "And actually, one of the costumed guys there was talking about that Walking Dead tv show. He was kinda dressed like SpiderMan... but different. They all seemed kinda young, actually..."

Angel winces, "Sounds frightening...and I'm not a fan of guns myself," but he does grin as she seems to at least lighten up with his attempt at humor. "See? It's not always about people with the most power. It's about people who know what they're doing. If I'm ever caught with Zombies, I want you at my back." His grin fades a little, "Are you all right though? With the shooting of the zombies?"

"I'll protect you," Fern says softly, with a crooked smile. "Already promised I wouldn't let anything hurt you, didn't I?" At the slip of his grin she brings one hand up, gently touching one finger to the tip of his nose briefly. "I'm alright. Daddy taught me how to shoot, and I know that if it was ever down to me or someone I loved or someone trying to hurt us..." Her shoulders shrug against his chest. Leaning forward, Fern takes another sip from the glass of scotch, and holds onto it as she settles back against Warren again. "Thank you for being here for me," she says softly.

"I want to protect you too," Warren offers after moment or two of silence. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you had to fight the zombies." He wrinkles his nose as it's touched but falls silent again, just holding her.

He finally asks, though, "What happened at the restaurant? Did you see something? Did someone try to hurt you?"

Fern lets her free hand drift up again, without turning her head, and her fingertips stroke lightly against Warren's jaw. "Thank you for that, too. It's good to know that if you had been there I would have been safer." The questions see another shake of her head, "No... it was like... I was in the middle of taking an order and then suddenly I was in that London and all that weird stuff happened. And then I was right back at the restaurant, still standing at the table, and they said I just stopped talking for a few seconds. It threw me."

Tilting his head in some at the touch, Warren smiles at her, "Thank you for that also." That she has that kind of faith in him. When she describes what happened at the restaurant, he takes another sip of his scotch, "Like a flashback, maybe?" There's another pause then, "I know some people you could talk to if you want. I mean...I'm totally happy to listen."

"No, that's when it actually happened. Apparently it was only takes a few seconds here to kill a Zombie Lord in another timeline." There's a wryness to her tone with this. "At least it's over and done with." As far as she's concerned. "I'd listen to you any time you need, I hope you know that. Sometimes it just helps to say things out loud to get them sorted out in your head. I think I'm ok with what happened now." She sighs softly, letting her eyes drift around Warren's domain. "You have a nice place. It feels safe here." Not that she doesn't feel safe in Harlem. Much.

"Wait..." Warren pauses, "So...you were abducted for a few seconds to this alternate universe where you fought the zombies...when you were working? And you sort of froze?" He can't help but frown, "It was a mental abduction? I...that sounds...I mean, why take you? I don't mean any offense, but I don't understand why you'd be psychically attacked like that."

At the mention of his place and feeling safe here, he offers, "You can stay whenever and however long you like, you know."

Fern looks as baffled by this as Warren does, "I have -no- idea. They were all people who could do things. The only thing I can do is get an order right and remember all my lines." But, apparently, she did serve a purpose. "I -said- they'd made a mistake. Maybe they got confused because I know people like you, and thought I was someone special, too." Or maybe even the least among the group was also important. A glance goes up, brows lifting slightly. "You have a guest bedroom?" With as big as a penthouse is, he surely must, but she asks with a slight smirk.

"You -are- someone special, Fern...who cares if you're not blue and fuzzy, or don't have wings, or can't shoot lasers out of your eyes," Warren makes sure to point out. "I'm glad you're all right. I know people who know about...psychic things like that if you want to talk to them. I don't know all that much, admittedly." He continues to frown some as he finishes off his scotch, but then her question catches him by surprise.

"A guest bedroom? I...uh...no, but..." He may have just stepped in it, "I can sleep on the sofa..." or the floor, more likely.

Fern colors lightly, pleased by his words. "No, I feel better having talked to you about it." She watches him drain his glass, then tries to hide the grin that wants to come at his stammer as she catches him off guard. The young waitress shifts, reaching for his empty glass, taking her own as well, and she moves to the kitchen, tossing back over her shoulder, "I couldn't kick you out of your own bed."

Angel just watches Fern as she gets up and clears the glasses. "I...but I couldn't ask you to take the sofa." Although he knows full well that's not what she meant. His cheeks flush pink as he also stands and goes to follow her. It gives him time to figure out what he wants to say and how he wants to say it. "I don't want to move too fast," he finally offers. "I know that relationships can burn brightly at first and fizzle out...and I don't want that to happen." Partially because he feels she'll just go right to Kurt if it does. "But I also don't want to frustrate you by moving too slowly."

Putting the glasses down, Fern reaches for the bottle of scotch, holding it in both hands as she turns to look at Warren as he nears. Her head tilts slightly as she asks, "So you aren't just in it for a few laughs before you move on?" She turns away before he can answer, continuing speaking as she pours them each another measure with a light clink on each glass. "There are things I don't share with just anyone. I'm not easy. I also trust that you aren't a man who would force himself on me and could handle sleeping on the same mattress without anyone having to press assault charges." The bottle is set down, capped, and she turns with a glass in each hand, offering him one with a level gaze. "As for how slowly you want to go, I have no more intention of forcing anything upon you than you do upon me."

Clearing his throat at the question, Warren watches Fern as she pours them both more to drink. "I would never force myself on you, Fern. I would never force myself on anyone." He takes the offered glass and looks down at the drink for a moment, "I don't tend to go into anything for 'just a few laughs'. You shouldn't believe what the gossip magazines say, you know."

Fern's lips ease back into a soft smile. "I don't think that you would purposely do anything to hurt me, Warren." She lifts her glass and takes a sip, her eyes on him over the rim. Her tongue darts out quickly, catching the last drop on her lips before she speaks. "If you feel like kissing me, you can kiss me. If you feel like touching me, you can touch me. I am an affectionate person. I hope that's ok."

"Likewise," Warren offers. "I'm glad you realize that I wouldn't ever try to hurt you." That's important to him. He also takes a sip from his glass, "I really haven't dated much before. I've had girls on my arm for events, but it's not the same. I also hope that's ok." But he does lean in to steal a kiss then, "I apologize in advance if you get caught up by the Paparazzi."

Fern lets the kiss linger, pushing up on her toes so he doesn't have to lean quite so much, and when she lowers back to stand flat footed she smiles. "I want you to be able to be comfortable with me. I don't get the idea that you're comfortable with an awful lot of people, Warren." While coming honestly, the words are also gentle. "I like you. I want you to like me too." And there's that little smirk again, "Doesn't mean I won't keep standing up to you."

Angel wraps an arm about Fern as she presses a little closer to him. He can't help but look down at her when they separate, "That's pretty much true. It took me so long to be comfortable with myself...but I think I can be comfortable around you. I...I know that you don't care about my wings or what I can do and I appreciate that. A lot." He can't help but smile, "I like you a lot and I even like it when you stand up to me."

"Your wings are just part of the package deal. I do like them." Fern's eyes shift, taking in the curve of one wing by his shoulder. She's been curious about them, but she knew there would come a time, at some point, they would talk and it didn't need to be rushed. So she indulges some of her curiosity. "Are they very sensitive?"

Warren's hand reaches to rest over one of Fern's, just holding it and rubbing his thumb across the back of it. "They are...but...you can touch them if you want." That's a big step for him right there. Most people aren't permitted to touch his wings at all.

He looks past Fern a moment before taking in a breath, "The wings aren't all I have. I just...it's not something very obvious, but I think you should know."

Fern can sense by the hesitation that this is something not taken lightly and her eyes shift back to his. "I would like to," she says with a bare nod of her head. She waits, though, for him to say what he has to next. It does bring some concern to her eyes, and she squeezes his hand lightly, "Alright."

The squeeze of his hand seems to help. He knows she won't run away at this, but it's still not something he likes to say to just everyone. Then again, as he said before, Fern is 'special' and keeping secrets isn't the way to begin a relationship. "I can heal people. With my blood. It's kind of gruesome, but...it can also help people." With that admission, he takes a long swig of the scotch.

Her brows lift in surprise at this revelation, not something she was expecting. Fern waits for Warren to take his drink, and when the glass has left his lips she takes it from him gently, putting both glasses aside on the counter. She slips her hands into his, looking up at him. "I don't think it's gruesome, I think it's amazing."

Angel just sort of shrugs, "Well, you haven't seen me bleed on people, but thanks. I...wish I could help everyone who needs it, but..." but he also can't sacrifice himself. "I just wanted you to know. I didn't want you to find out any other way and then think I was holding something back." He's trying, but opening up to people, especially to a woman he likes, isn't the easiest thing for him. "I'm also trying not to be so shy, especially around you."

"You can't save the world," Fern says gently. "But you make a big difference in it, Warren. And I would imagine there are... people who would take advantage of that if they knew." There's a hesitation as she chooses her words, trying to get across that she intends to keep it to herself. She brings one of his hands up, quickly kissing his knuckles before letting their hands drop again as her lips curve into an impish smile and she challenges, "Then kiss me like you mean it."

"That's my concern too...that I could be locked up in a lab and just bled..." Warren starts but then cants his head as Fern kisses his knuckles and makes her request. There's a moment of hesitation as he tries to figure out if she's teasing him, but then there's the realization that she's not that type of person. She wouldn't be cruel. So, taking her in his arms, he certainly does pull her in to kiss her as requested...even though they're standing there in the kitchen area.

Fern waits for him to take the invitation, a moment that feels like forever when she worries that he won't. She eases as Warren tugs her closer, letting her hands drift up his arms and around his neck. She's very aware of his arms around her and his warmth against her, getting more comfortable as they get to know each other better. And still, that light smirk until he tames it.

Warren wraps his arms about her, keeping her close even as he also relaxes into the kiss, letting it grow more and more impassioned as he lets go of inhibitions. His wings also curve around, as if to embrace her as well or merely hide the rest of the world so that it's only the two of them.

The response mirrors his, Fern's growing desire unhidden, until finally the kiss breaks and she takes a soft gasp for air. There's a giggle as she looks up at him, "Wow. I could feel that all the way to my toes." Obviously not something she finds objectionable, to judge by her smile. "Got a pair of pajamas I could borrow? I promise to stay on my side of the bed."

Angel's breath is also coming in a little quicker, "Me too." It takes him another moment or two to be able to take in her question and form an answer. "Uhh...pajamas..." That's an excellent question. "All my shirts have holes in them. But...I can get some easily. What kind do you want?" Part of the perks of being Warren Worthington III. If his girlfriend wants pajamas, someone will go out and find her pajamas.

Fern grins, "I'm so used to your wings I wasn't even thinking that. I can just sleep in my t-shirt, but I'll need a pair of bottoms." And, now that she's been reminded, she looks up into Warren's eyes. "May I touch your wing now?"

"They'll be big on you, but I do have those," Warren smiles. It softens some even as he nods. "Do you want to sit or...just...be in the kitchen? If we sit, you won't have to reach so far." He nods back over to the sofa if she'd like, the low back chosen just to accommodate his wings comfortably. "But I can also get you some pajamas to keep here..."

"We'll find a safety pin or something," Fern says, not worried about it. She nods eagerly, "Let's sit? And we'll see about the pajamas. What if I snore and you never want me to stay over again? What if -you- snore and I don't get any sleep? Nope, we won't get ahead of ourselves."

He'll be sure to find her something with a drawstring but that will wait for now. "I don't think I snore, and I doubt you snore," Warren offers as he leads Fern over to the sofa to sit. From there, he's willing to let her go at her own pace while he tries to relax and not give into any knee-jerk reactions.

Fern slips onto the sofa next to Warren, knees pulled up and almost facing him, sitting closely against him. She reaches out, her eyes on her hand as she lets her fingers settle on the feathers. She tries not to touch too lightly and tickle, stroking gently over the curve of Warren's wing. "I like this," she says quietly, lifting her hand to bring it back, letting the touch repeat.

The wings give a little jerk at the touch and Warren's back tenses, but he truly does try to relax. He takes long, slow breaths, and eventually the tiny muscles in the wings and the larger muscles in his back begin to loosen as he gets used to the touch. Warren can see her hand, right there, and he can watch her, knowing that she means no harm at all. "Thank you," is finally managed. There's even a touch of humor, "Next time I feel some feathers loosening, I'll be sure to call you to help."

She's used to skittish creatures, and Fern can feel Warren slowly relaxing under her fingers. "When is molting season?" she murmurs in return, pulling back a little to see his face but continuing the soft strokes to his feathers. She lets her hand make one more pass before she withdraws it, pauses, and then leans in. This kiss is by her initiation, bolder but still undemanding, the lingering taste of the scotch on her lips.

"A little closer to summer...it's never too bad. Not like most birds, but I do tend to lose a few feathers then," Warren starts and begins to really relax into the touch. The kiss causes him to give a little shiver as this is the most intimate he's ever really been with anyone. No previous dates were ever allowed to touch his wings. "Don't stop," he requests quietly.

His soft voice makes Fern pause again, and then her hand returns to his wing, the tender touch resuming. She lets silence fall as she moves with deliberation, unhurried, enjoying the sensation beneath her fingertips, the soft whisper as her skin passes over feathers. Finally, she whispers, "I'm gonna be really disappointed if you keep me up snoring all night."

"If I snore," Warren manages to get his wits about him enough to form the words, "You have permission to smack me awake. Or smother me with a pillow." But he's never been told that he snores before...not that he's spend the night with many people. At this point, he's practically melted into the touch, relaxing and letting his guard down completely.

Fern considers his offer as her hand moves, and she finally agrees, "That sounds fair. But I'm not gonna tell you which I'll do. Gotta keep you guessing." Her voice stays low, soft and warm. She shifts again, facing him fully, letting her arm drape over his shoulder as she snuggles up close, her cheek soft against his as she nuzzles lightly, the soothing petting continuing even as she settles with a contented sigh. She barely has to whisper, her lips are so close to his ear, "Right now... right this second... are you happy?"

Warren is pretty much putty in Fern's hands at the moment. Letting down his walls has left him vulnerable, of course, but right now, he doesn't seem to care. He knows he's safe...just as he was able to offer that to Fern earlier, she's given it to him now. "Very happy. Happier than I can remember," is murmured as he wraps his arms around her to keep her close, "Are you?"

This close, Fern just can't resist the temptation of the little devil on her shoulder, and she leans forward, letting her teeth gently nip at Warren's earlobe. "I'm very happy, Warren. If we never had to move again, I think I'd be just fine with that. You're warm and you smell good," she adds with another nuzzle against his cheek. She's playful, not impatient. Everything happens in it's time.

"Good...I'm glad..." is offered with a smile, "But we might get cramps if we stay on the couch. We could...move to where there's more room," and he might just be attempting some of that movement on his own. "Well, I did shower today," is offered, a touch of amusement in his voice, his lips moving to brush against her cheek. Maybe it's the scotch, maybe it's her nearness, but he's definitely a little lightheaded now.

Fern stills him with one more kiss before she pushes away to stand, possibly not doing his head any good, certainly not her own. There's a giggle as she reaches for his hand, then moves close again. Between them, they make it to Warren's room, Fern changing into the pajama pants in the bathroom, giving him time to change clothes before she joins him. She doesn't stick to the absolute letter of her promise, crossing the boundary to snuggle up against him. But neither of them will have reason to press charges in the morning.