Vanessa & Warren | Sunday evening

[x-copycat.livejournal.com]

Vanessa decides to check in at Walters & Worthington while out for a run. Warren evades. Vanessa needles. And the two finally say some things they haven't been saying for months.

Warren wasn't entirely intending on being a complete workaholic, but it was turning out to be necessary. Jennifer had yet to forgive him for his disappearing act, and his desk was piled high with work. Which was why he was still in the office though it was way past business hours, reading over case files. He'd also broken out the alcohol, and was nursing his first glass of scotch for the night. The ice had long since melted, and Warren had been taking the occasional sip from it. He needed to keep his mind sharp to read through all of this, but he didn't think he would get through the whole thing without a little help.

The thing about imprisonment, Vanessa had found, was that she was insanely restless for weeks afterward. This was something she had already known about herself but it never ceased to be odd. Despite her overwhelming desire to basically sleep all the time to make up for the sleepless weeks in Genosha and the sleepless nights she was spending with Laurie at the mansion, Vanessa was out running. It was late, it was raining and the streets were relatively empty at the moment.Yet the lights over in Worthington and Walters drew her across the street and found her knocking on the door. Either someone forgot to turn everything off or someone was working late and it was worth making sure everything was alright whether it was Warren or Jen.

Just Warren and his usual workaholic act. He glanced up at the knock, though he wasn't entirely surprised. He had been getting the occasional drop in, people seeking him out since he was 'in the office anyway', mostly for legal advice, but also the occasional local who was glad to see him back. Or someone wanting to talk business. He got up to answer the door, leaving his drink behind and vaguely tucking his shirt back in on the off chance it was a client. But when he opened the door, it was a familiar (but pleasantly surprising) figure, and he smiled warmly at her.

"Hey Vanessa. Come on in." He looked her over a little. "You're looking a little wet and bedraggled." He meant that in the nicest way possible.

His observation received a pursed little smirk from the metamorph. "Thanks, I was going to go for heroin chic but someone told me that wasn't in style anymore so I figured wet dog was definitely the look for me. What do you think?" She spun around once she was inside, arms out to her sides. She was only sporting loose, short running shorts and a cropped tank top over her sports bra. He feet were sort of soggy in her running shoes but they would dry out eventually.

Vanessa looked around for Jennifer but she was apparently out. Trying, and failing, to brush a lock of blonde hair matted to the side of her face away, she turned back toward Warren. "I figured since I was working on my wet dog chic and saw the lights I'd check in and make sure everything was okay here since it's a bit late to be working, don't you think?"

"If anyone could make the wet dog look work..." Warren said with a smirk, exaggeratedly checking her out. Even buried in work, and trying to put thoughts of their recent misadventures far from his mind, the flirt in Warren never failed to rise to the surface. Especially when it came to someone he'd always found it easy to banter with.

"It probably is, but I maaaay be a little bit in the dog house with my partner. She wasn't particularly impressed with my impromptu vacation taking a lot longer than expected. So, catch up time."

A hand waved dismissively through the air. "We warned her. And by 'we' I mean 'me.' When everyone vanished from the protest and everything Lucas and I made our rounds of our various people. Being in the neighborhood, we put Jen on our list. I told her people might be coming after people affiliated with Xavier's and since you had an obvious connection there she needed to lay low. Maybe she didn't quite register that you would be off playing hero and shit could blow up, but I think you deserve a pass on account of 'a bunch of people were imprisoned, tortured and fucked up shit happened.'" A mischievous little smile appeared suddenly. "I hear you didn't get the jailhouse treatment, but I did. I have zero problem utilizing my complete identity confusion, subsequent temporary amnesia and imprisonment to your advantage here."

"Weeell, I haven't exactly told her about the secret vigilante hero thing, so she's justified in that sense. I'm also not entirely sure how much she would approve of 'so, basically we invaded a country and overthrew their government'. Regardless of the reason." He shrugged. "Which is, yes, something I should talk to her about. But it's not the easiest thing in the world to explain when you're not used to the way things work with Xavier's." He flashed her a smile back, his tone lightening and moving into a more teasing one.

"Hey, I got stuck out in bushland. I'm sure that almost ranks up there with a jail. At one point I had to sleep on the ground. Wrapped in my wings." He wasn't really complaining - sure, he had hated roughing it, but it had definitely been preferable to being locked up. That, he wasn't sure he could have stood.

Vanessa's eyes had narrowed at the revelation that Jennifer had no idea about Warren's "extracurricular activities" but they had only gotten more narrow with his faux complaints of roughing it. "Oh," she sighed, rolling her eyes as she began to speak, " the pretty boy had to sleep on the ground. How awful. Have you gone to a spa since you've come back? Gotten your mani-pedi? Luxuriated in an oversized bath full of very expensive bubbles? Because, clearly, you're going to need to do these things to realign yourself with the higher class to which lifestyle you have grown so accustomed. I mean, to think you were not provided with a mattress out there in the bush!" Vanessa threw her hands up, full of faux outrage on his behalf. "What sort of heathens were you with?"

"I know, I know," Warren replied with weary resignation, trying to hide a smirk. "I just don't know what the world is coming to, when mutants hiding out in the middle of nowhere don't have proper matresses and feather pillows for their guests. I really should put in a complaint, shouldn't I?" By the time he finished speaking, he'd been unable to keep the smirk hidden, quite happy to keep poking fun at himself to distract from them talking about him working too much. "Next time I ship out to a foreign country, I'm definitely going to have to make sure I have these things lined up."

"Perhaps send in a request form to the country you're invading?" Vanessa proposed with a smile. "'Dear Sirs, I plan to stage an invasion on your soil in seventeens day. I expect, upon my arrival, to find the following supplies provided at the locations listed below. Your cooperation in this matter is greatly appreciated. Thank you.'" She even made a gesture as if she were signing the note with a bit of a flourish.

Warren laughed. "It would be a very civilised way to make war. We could meet for high tea and chit chat before the fighting starts. And thus solve all the world's problems before it came time to do violence upon each other." He grinned broadly at her, once again thinking about how much he enjoyed their banter, and that he'd missed it. "So now that you've thoroughly distracted me from my work for the evening, how about you join me for a very late meal and a drink? I'll even cook. I took some classes."

An eyebrow raised in a very clear look of disbelief. "You? Cooked? This I have to witness. At the very worst it can't be worse than my cooking." Vanessa paused to reevaluate that comment. "Well, it could be but I'm hoping it's not. But you're not allowed to get me drunk, understood?" Despite how short Vanessa's tenure as a teacher had been, she did a fairly impressive school marm tone on that last bit.

"I'll have you know I do a very passable steak and vegetables. It's become my signature meal." He still obtained most of his meals from the places in District X, but occasionally it was nice to go home and actually cook for himself. He was starting to understand the appeal behind. "One beer. I promise." He shot her his best 'innocent' smile. "You haven't seen my new apartment, have you?"
"I wasn't actually aware you even had one, to be honest." Should she have known that? It was hard to say. Vanessa had spent a lot of time avoiding everyone for the last six months or so. She had put more effort into avoiding Warren than anyone else, though. "You know, you can't really trust lawyers and their promises. They have such silver tongues. Or at least I have it on very good authority that this is the case."

"Recent purchase. I figured with all the time I was spending going back and forth at ridiculous hours, I might as well have somewhere to crash here. Which I remember being your suggestion, at some point. So thank you. It was a good idea." He offered her more of a real smile. "Let me just close up, and then we can head off." He winked playfully. "And I'll do my best to resist the urge to make all kinds of offers to remind you just how good my tongue is." Before she could reply, he headed for his desk, needing to turn off the computer and lock away various confidential files.

While he went off to do that, Vanessa choked a little on his last comment. Generally speaking, the metamorph's memory was above average. It also tended to be on the more vivid side. His little reminder brought quite explicit memories to the fore. It was possible Vanessa was blushing just the smallest bit. It wouldn't have shown had she been blue but being unfortunately peach-toned meant the faint pink flush was visible. Maybe she could put it down to the run. "I'm full of brilliant ideas," she told Warren when he came back. "Glad you actually took it. The commute would have probably killed you eventually."

Everything packed up and locked away, except for the front door, Warren rejoined Vanessa, a smile on his face. He wasn't about to comment on her blush - no, he was far too much of a gentleman for that - but he enjoyed the sight of it all the same.

"It's likely it would have," he agreed, waving an arm to usher her out the door so he could set the alarm and finish locking up. "Granted, I'm still back and forth thanks to X-things and generally being on hand at the mansion, but it's nice to not have to drive or fly back after a late night."

"Don't forget your rigorous country invading schedule," she put in, standing out in the rain instead of under the awning where should could have remained untouched by the falling droplets. She was already all wet from running in it, why bother trying to stay drier? Not to mention, she had found a lovely shadow where any potential blushing she was in denial of could easily go unnoticed. "That really impacts the commute, I hear."

Warren sighed dramatically. "I'm going to have to hire an assistant, just to keep track of all these things. I don't know how people survive without them." But that was a thought. A general office assistant. Maybe once things were back to normal. It was a thought.

"This way, beautiful." He gestured the direction to his apartment building with a movement of his head, falling in next to her and stretching a wing out a little to shelter her from the rain.

"Office assistants are wonderful things. You teach them to make coffee the right way, they answer phones, they file, they digitize." Vanessa sighed, wistful in that way that should have gone with a swoon but swooning was rather inconvenient while walking. And while one was technically in the curve of another's wing. Which she was quite causally pretending not to notice. "I fully support this idea. Granted, we've got Sarah once a week when school's going and more when she's on break, but not having her at all would be such a headache."

"Sounds like heaven," Warren replied with a grin. "Jen hired a paralegal during my absence, who I have heard is great but she's hogging him as part of my punishment. Maybe I can charm her into forgiving me with an office assistant as well. And a new coffee machine." Not that there was particularly anything wrong with the one they had, but you know. Bribery was necessary.

"What, like one of those ones where it makes each cup individually on the spot in less than a minute? Because if she's the kind if girl to like coffee makers that seems sort of like a nifty novelty." A moment later Vanessa was wrinkling her nose. "And for the record, are you listening to our conversation? Office assistants and coffee makers. I just spent more than a week in jail and you went off to be a big damn hero and we come home and....we're boring. How did that happen?"

Warren wrinkled his nose, thinking about the question for a moment. "Either we're far too complacent and blasé about these sorts of things, or we're deliberately talking about mundane things so we don't have to think about it." The answer was more serious than he really intended it to be, given their light heartedness, but it was true.

"I don't know about you," he continued. "But after what everyone went through, it just makes me all the more determined to keep doing what we've been doing. Helping mutants. Pushing for equal rights. Raising awareness. Being the bad guy or the hero when it calls for it. It seems like a never-ending battle sometimes, but all I can do is think of how we have been able to change things. Make a difference in people's lives."

"I came, I saw, I got confused, had identity amnesia and got imprisoned," Vanessa told him dismissively. "It wasn't actually anything new for me. Granted, those things don't usually combine for me like that but, hey, it was far less traumatic than other instances so I will take my wins where I can get them." She even gave him a proud little grin. "But, you know, I think it's sort of premature to say what, if any effect everyone had in Genosha. Will things change? Yes. Will it ultimately be for the better? We hope so, but we don't know. Only time will tell. In some ways, we could have made things worse in the long run. That's the thing with good intentions. Sometimes they lead to hell. But you do what you can when you can and hope for the best."

"We did our best with the situation we were in, I think. That's all that matters to me. Revisiting and rehashing everything to death doesn't help anything." He smiled over to her, his wing coming in to brush her shoulders so it was more like a hug than shelter. He then started to slow, coming to a stop outside a door nestled between a couple of empty stores.

"I'm in here," he said with a tilt of his head.

Vanessa looked up at the building thoughtfully. "This does not look half as swanky as it ought to." She gave Warren a little bit of a smirk, though she was neither acknowledging nor pulling away from his slick little wing hug he was doing. "And, you know, I hear talking about stuff helps some people. Some smart person I knew once told me that." A finger poked the lawyer in the side lightly. "And you sound rather avoidant."

"I'm trying to blend in," he replied with a grin. "And it looks much better on the inside, trust me." There had been a fair amount of renovations to the place before he moved in. He unlocked the door, pushing it open to reveal a darkened stairwell. "Well, on the inside of my apartment. I'm still negotiating having the stairwell renovated." He eyed her after her last comment, raising an eyebrow. "Me? Avoidant? I have no idea what you might be talking about." He stepped back to let her in, holding the door open for her.

"No, no, of course you don't," she said, clearly not believing him. Vanessa stepped past Warren and headed up the stairs. More light would have been nice but who said one really needed light?

"After all, I'd know nothing about people avoiding topics, would I? Clearly I must be watching too many awful, late night movies. They're warping my entire sense of reality." She paused at the stairs' landing. "How far up am I going here?"

"All the way up." Warren pulled the door closed after them, quickly joining her on the stairs. It was only four stories up, but he liked the easy access to the roof.

"You're far too perceptive," he grumbled as they climbed, really preferring to continue on with aforementioned avoidance. Okay, yes, talking was a good idea. It usually was. But that didn't mean Warren liked it any more than she did.

"It's one of my more endearing traits," she told him, the smile obvious in her voice. Vanessa moved up the stairs quickly, taking them two at a time. "It makes me practically psychic, you know. I should try my hand at one of those street psychics. I'll need a decent name, though. Everyone knows you need a good name or people won't think you're credible. Which I'm not, precisely, but they don't need to know that. Being observant is practically magic to most people anyway."

"I can just see it now, Madame Vanessa, telling you everything you need to know about your future. Cross her palm with silver, and the veils of time will be parted." Warren was grinning as he spoke, continuing to be evasive despite himself. Why talk about real things when he could engage in banter?

"That's me. I'll have the entire faux gypsy get up going on." Vanessa stopped at the top of the stairs and leaned against a wall while Warren unlocked the door. "You know, the scarf around my head, the layers of gold necklaces, the hoop earrings, the stacks of bangles, the gaudy rings on nearly every finger. Not to mention the floor length shirts and billowy shirts and the hip scarf. I might as well just dress up like a belly dancer with a crystal ball, really. Though I'll need a different body." She picked up a strand of her blonde hair, held it out in front of her eyes and made a face at it. "I'm not exactly ethnic at the moment and no one believes a blonde haired, blue eyed white woman as a psychic."

"See, I don't know, I think you could work the whole blonde hair, blue eyed thing. You're so authentic, you don't need the trappings other psychics do. You can see the future without any props. I bet you'd make a killing." Warren grinned and waved Vanessa in once he'd opened the door.

The apartment was very sparse - all polished wooden floor boards and white walls, with pieces of art hung on some of the walls. The art was all fairly modern and some of it obviously mutant-themed, considering most of what he'd bought for the place he'd bought from local artists. The furniture was mostly clean lines and glass tables, with the couch and armchairs all having very low backs and also white. The windows had obviously been replaced with the largest windows possible in the space, and they all had doors that opened up to give Warren easy access if he chose.

"Now killing dressed as a faux gypsy," Vanessa began as she walked into the center of the living room, "I can do. I've never done it in the past, but I think I could make it work. I'd feel a bit bad about pinning an apparent crime on a rather maligned and misunderstood group of people, though. After all, the Rroma have never done anything to me." She overlooked mention of having met perfectly nice people raised by the Rromani, such as Amanda and Meggan. Vanessa figured it went without saying.
Spinning around to take in the apartment a small frown appeared on Vanessa's face. "It's a little vacant, isn't it? Sort of a temporary feel to it. Or perhaps the sort of bachelor pad where the bachelor doesn't spend many nights in his own bed. It's nice, don't get me wrong, and it feels very...you. But still, sort of vacant."

Warren glanced around and shrugged. "I like the space. Gives me room to move around without bumping into things with my wings." He smirked a little. "And it is a little temporary, I still spend some nights back at the mansion. Or at least I was. So you could say I don't spend much time in my own bed, more or less." It just wasn't for the usual reasons a bachelor didn't spend too much time in his own bed.

"Would you like a tour? Before I impress you with my amazing cooking skills."

"There's enough for a tour?" Vanessa perked up with extra enthusiasm, which was clearly an embellishment for effect. She held out an arm and nodded. "Lead the way, signore. Dazzle me with your art and clean living."

"Hey now," Warren replied, faux-offended. "I don't sleep in my living room. And there's a bathroom. I even have a study." He linked arms with her, leading her towards the hallway that led to the mentioned rooms. He nudged open his bedroom door, revealing a similarly sparse room with a king size bed, white bedding and a wall of mirrors that concealed his wardrobe. This one looked slightly more lived in, shirts thrown over an arm chair and a large pile of laundry sitting in a corner. There was even the occasional feather around the place.

"It's a mess, I know. The cleaner hasn't been yet this week." Warren might have learned how to cook for himself, but cleaning? Laundry? Best left to the experts. "And my study is over here." He gestured to the door directly across from his bedroom.

"I never knew you had such a thing for watching yourself," she commented idly before turning away from the open doorway. "I feel like that's something I should have known about you, considering." A flash of a smile came before she went to investigate the study. "If this isn't filled with legal texts and hardbacks from floor to ceiling on at least one wall I'm going to be terribly disappointed in you, you know." The door cracked open and Vanessa peered through as if illicitly spying. "Though you do need a color other than white and wood around here."

"Oh yes, I'm terribly vain," he replied mildly, a smile on his face. "It takes that much mirror for me to be able to see my ego." Or to be more specific, his wings, but that wasn't nearly as fun. It could be difficult grooming wings yourself, especially if you can't use a mirror to check them out.

"Hope it's not too disappointing." The decorating system in the office was much the same as everywhere else, white and wood, with bookshelves obscuring the walls instead of art and two desks set up. One simply had a computer set up on it, the other was covered in a mess of papers.

Vanessa sighed. Her head fell, shoulders slumped, and she shook her head in clear disappointment. "Worthington, what are we going to do with you? You need some color." She turned and shuffled back off toward the living room looking as disheartened as possible. That was, until her head came up and she flashed an impish grin in the lawyer's direction. "Blue. I think you definitely need some blue around here. Pale blue maybe. On the icy side. To compliment all your white without disrupting it." She sounded and looked more mischievous than flirtatious, but it was a fine line with Vanessa most days. She strode it now, keeping careful balance not to tilt too far in a direction that would be problematic.

"Pale blue, you say?" He asked with a smirk and a tilt to his head, nudging that boundary a little bit more towards the flirtatious smile. "I think I could get on board with that. I've always been rather fond of blue, personally." He followed her back towards the living room, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dress pants.

"Maybe the kitchen will meet your expectations," he continued, not giving her a chance to respond before changing the topic. "It's more than just white and wood." Which was true. His appliances were all a gleaming silver, though there wasn't any other colors having been introduced into the decorating.

"Oh?" Blue eyes searched for the kitchen and Vanessa smoothly shifted to detour in that direction. "And what if it doesn't? You'll have to make up for that, you know." A familiar pet name nearly slipped past her lips but Vanessa had managed to catch it just in time. She concentrated, instead, on inspecting the kitchen for this mysterious other color. Fingertips trailed along the edge of a white marble countertop as she walked through the spotless room. "Chrome doesn't count as a color, you realize," she murmured, as she completed her viewing at the other end of the room. Turning, Vanessa leaned back against another counter and raised an eyebrow. "It's all a bit lifeless, don't you think?"

"Sure it does," he protested, leaning against the opposite counter to her. He shrugged at the last comment, glancing around. "It's a place to live. It's not an eyesore. What more do I need?" The art on the walls added a little color and personality, and Warren typically only used his apartment to occasionally eat and sleep. He wasn't much of one to stay in by himself if he could help it, and he'd never really been much of one to make things 'homey'. He wouldn't even know how to if he wanted to.

"It's not exactly a place that says, 'hey, relax, unwind in me,'" Vanessa pointed out without judgement. "If it's just a crash pad then I suppose it's suitable, it's just not...I don't know. It's not the sort of place I tend to picture you, I suppose. But then neither is a kitchen." The metamorph bit her lower lip and then, very casually, said, "A lot can change in a year, though." A year. That's how long it had nearly been. Next month would mark one year since she had been abducted from a bathroom in a motel. Really, she and Warren had spent very little time anywhere near one another since then.

Warren blinked a couple of times, taken aback by the mention of the time. It had nearly been a year, hadn't it? How had that much time really passed? He wasn't sure. He glanced around the apartment again, trying to see it from her point of view. It wasn't really a place to unwind - but then Warren didn't often do that. He'd kept himself busy with work in that time period, working for XFI or in the community, then in setting up things with Jennifer. Unwinding, if it happened, happened with friends, getting a drink, or in his suite back at the mansion.

"I suppose," he said finally, looking back at her. "I guess I'm a little too used to living in places that were intended to be showpieces, rather than homes." His last apartment in Manhatten had been a 'gift' from his father, and the Worthington family home was not exactly a relaxing sort of place either. The apartment he'd shared with Piotr had been more of a home, though that had been more to do with Piotr than Warren.

"Showpieces aren't good for anything other than impressing people." Her tone made it cleat the ex-mercenary didn't approve. "You're impressive enough without having to rely on your apartment. A home goes a long way. It's beneficial for one's mental disposition. It does your soul good, if you buy into such notions. Homes are safe places where you let your guard down, take off your mask and let yourself be you." A hand gestured to the apartment around them. "This is your mask, not your face. It's just as pretty but lacks the substance of the real thing." Then she shrugged. "But what do I know about decorating? Laurie and Adrienne are responsible for most of what I bought to fill my apartment. But then again, those girls are my home regardless."

"Home?" Warren attempted a smile, but it fell flat. "The mansion is the only home I've ever really known." Warren pushed away from the counter, going to the fridge to give himself a distraction. This conversation was - again - drifting into territory he didn't really want to cover, issues he didn't entirely want to prod at. He started pulling out the various vegetables he'd decided to cook with dinner, as well as bringing out two pieces of the steak he'd bought from a local butcher yesterday.

"And here I thought you were old enough that some other man's house wouldn't be good enough anymore, that you would want your own." Her tone was curious, musing aloud. "Huh. Apparently wrong again." Vanessa was, perhaps, poking him a little bit on purpose. In part, she wanted to see what the reaction would be. In part, she felt he needed it. Warren was being evasive and avoidant, things she knew from experience weren't particularly helpful. Burying problems were useful temporarily, but they always grew, morph, became beasts unto themselves. People thought putting off the inevitable made it easier somehow but it just made it that much harder when you could no longer run. Vanessa buried and she ran and she ignored, but at least she had the sense to know it was an idiotic thing to do.

"Very funny," Warren replied, shooting a look at Vanessa as he pulled out a chopping board and a knife. "This is the first place I've lived in that has just been -- mine. Not a gift, not someone else's place, not shared with someone else. And it doesn't feel like a home. It feels..." He shrugged. "Well, temporary. I don't think I really want to be that guy with a bachelor pad in the middle of Manhattan, living it up in the city. Maybe I used to want that, but now..." He started chopping up vegetables, concentrating harder on it than was strictly necessary. "The mansion feels like home because it's the first place people actually gave a shit about me, and accepted me just the way I was. And I'm not talking about now, when I was younger. It's not really home any more, but it's the only place that has been."

"Who says this has to be a bachelor pad? Who says you have to live it up? Who says it can't be whatever you actually want it to be for whoever you are or want to become?" Vanessa glanced at the counter behind her but thought better of hopping up on there. Her shorts were maybe headed toward damp but they were firmly in the wet category. The dripping had stopped on the stairs at least. "Sounds like you've got some sort predetermined view of this place you should let go of. Or you're still functioning under someone else's rules without realizing it maybe. I just don't see the point, I guess. You're spending only some nights at the mansion which means at least right now you're spending most nights here. Wouldn't you want to make this home?"

"I don't know," he replied, still concentrating hard on slicing up vegetables. "I guess I just don't see a place has a home without other people in it." For all that he'd been raised by distant parents and without siblings, he still saw people as a home, rather than a place. Or maybe it was because of that. You could live in a beautiful house, with all kinds of luxury, but it was the people who turned it into a home rather than just somewhere to live. "You said Laurie and Adrienne were your home, yes? The people I have that come the closest to that is the X-Men. Scott and Jean. The only art I have that I didn't buy for myself were gifts from Crystal and Jean-Paul." Both of whom weren't around any more. Once he'd had Piotr's art hanging on the walls, but he couldn't bear it now. It reminded him far too much of the past.

"I'm transient. I haven't had a home that was a place since I was a kid until the place I've got now. So people became home. Family became home and family hasn't been blood for a really fucking long time for me. So what's your excuse?" She didn't mean to be harsh but she may have been pushing a bit harder than she had been a moment ago. "You've got friends. You've got family. You've got enough money to not have to worry about the necessities or even the creature comforts. If you're this fucking mopey just because you haven't got someone to shag or a tiny person running about then I will gladly smack you in hopes that something shakes loose and drops back into the right place in your brain. You've got so much more than so many other people and it's not good enough for you? Why?"

"You don't think I know how lucky I am?" Warren shot back, finally dropping the knife and actually looking at her. "I couldn't possibly be unhappy, because I have everything, right? I'm rich and I'm handsome and everything comes so easily to me. My life must be perfect. Don't think I haven't heard all of this before." Warren shook his head, backing up, trying to figure out how to explain this to her.

"What is the point of having any of this if I don't have someone to share it with? I don't want this to be my life. Bachelor pads and fighting wars in other countries and filling all my time with work because I can't bear to look at my life. I want to settle down. I want to have kids. I want some sort of normal life. But apparently I can't even sustain a relationship without driving the other person away."

"You have people to share it with," she returned with conviction that matched his own tone. "Maybe you don't have your one true love, which I think is a bullshit myth anyway, but you have friends. You have friends who are so close they are family. You have people willing to put their life on the line for you and that's not because they're teammates. And not all of them even are your teammates. You've got time to have rugrats," though she couldn't imagine why anyone would want them with his life, "and to find the love of your life. But moping around isn't how you get that in your life. Actually it's exactly how you sabotage yourself from ever getting it." Vanessa considered bypassing his last point altogether but it itched so with a little bit of a frustrated growl she quickly added on, "And you didn't drive me away."

Warren couldn't argue with most of what Vanessa said, literally because she was right. So he didn't say anything for a few moments, before responding to her last comment.

"Maybe, but I didn't exactly do anything to stop you walking away, did I? Hell, after everything, I didn't even try to be your friend, or..." He slashed a hand through the air, frustrated, not sure what to say. There had been a vague sense of guilt he'd been carrying, that he'd essentially abandoned Vanessa after their relationship ended, as if that had been all they'd been to each other. Someone to share a bed with. Which may have been how they'd started, but he didn't think that's where things had ended up before she'd been kidnapped. They'd been more than that to each other, or at least she had been to him.

"Or what? The shoulder I didn't want to cry on? The consistently inquiring friend I would have punched? The therapist I wanted nothing to do with? Exactly what role do you think you could have played that I would have actually let you play?" Still leaning against the counter, looking far more casual than she sounded, Vanessa paused. She let that have a moment to hopefully process. "I've avoided almost everyone for the past seven months unless I work with them. Lucas keeps an eye on my windows from his place to gauge whether or not I'm getting any sleep, or at least he used to. For a while Garrison would show up once a week with take out and DVDs of some show I've never heard of and not ask questions because I never wanted to answer them and for about two months or so that's the only way I got any amount of sleep. Callisto moved in and we just don't talk about why she really did or how much I don't see my own bed. I've been fucking my best friend to help distract me from the noise in my own head. But she doesn't spend the night because I feel too guilty about the prospect of waking her up when I inevitably have nightmares so vivid I can feel my skin being peeled off me. Are you noticing a fucking pattern here? I have not wanted to be near people because they ask fucking questions I didn't want to have to face never mind relay to someone else. The people who don't ask I didn't run from. That was the qualification and you ask questions without even opening your mouth. Almost everyone does. I was a goddamn wreck. What do you think you could have done?"

"I don't know," he yelled back. "But I should have been able to do something. I --" He broke off before he said 'loved you', changing track instead. "I should have been able be there for you. Be what you needed. But I couldn't. I relied on fucking neighbourhood gossip and guesses to work out whether you were okay or not, that you were still working and functioning, and just -- what sort of person does that make me? What sort of friend? I told myself you must be okay, because you were still working, that you hadn't fucking disappeared."

"What kind of friend does that make Jean-Paul. He let me push him away just as easily. He checked on me more at first but it was easy because he worked with me. And he's gone completely now. Pulled his disappearing act because it's what he does." A hand waved the topic of the Quebecois away. "I wasn't okay. Fuck, I'm still not okay." Saying that aloud was likely more shock to the metamorph than it was to Warren. Vanessa hadn't said that aloud...maybe this entire time since she'd woken in the medlab. "I'm better, but okay is somewhere in a distant fucking horizon. I know you think you should've known what to do but how could you? You met this version of me, this person that I'm not even sure where she came from really. And when you got me back I was this fucked up damaged thing that didn't resemble any version of me in the least. And now you've got this," a hand swept along her body from shoulder to hip, indicating herself. "And you know what? You don't fucking know this version either. What the fuck is anyone supposed to do with that? And why're you supposed to have been so much more adept at dealing with it than everyone else?"

"Because I should have been!" His usual ability to craft an argument, to talk his way through something calmly and rationally had completely deserted him at this point. "I loved you, or at least I was starting to, and I just abandoned you. I didn't even try to do anything. I let you push me away without a protest, and I didn't even try."

A hand clenched at Vanessa's side, the only outward sign of her frustration. "You're not listening, Worthington. That girl was gone. That girl is gone. Anything you owed her is a debt forgiven. I didn't want you around. I couldn't be who you wanted me to be. I couldn't be her. I didn't want the reminder. I didn't want the expectation that she would come back." Vanessa spoke the next words very slowly, and very deliberately. "You did not fail me, Warren."

Warren stared at Vanessa for a long few moments, and the tension in his frame - and that knot of guilt he'd been carrying around since that day their relationship had ended started to loosen. He hadn't realised he'd been carrying it, not really. He hadn't realised he'd needed to hear that from her. He smiled sheepishly at her, running a hand through his hair almost nervously.

"Well, as long as I'm the only person holding it against me," he said, attempting to return to some sort of banter. "Do you think we could try being friends?" He continued, being serious for a moment. He didn't want to push his way back into her life if she still didn't want him around. "No expectations. Just two people getting to know each other again."

Really, there was only one reaction to possibly have. Vanessa's hand slapped against her forehead and stayed there as her eyes closed and shook her head. "Jesus fucking Christ," she swore quietly under her breath. "You're such a goddamn mule, Worthington. How the hell did we date?" And then she laughed, because it was an entirely ridiculous conversation, wasn't it? Him feeling responsible and her yelling at him and then him just going and pulling a 180 on her. It was ridiculous. "Sure," Vanessa finally said, still laughing. "Sure, we can try to be friends. But friendship comes with me sitting my wet ass on your counter."

"Fine," he said with a laugh. "But I'm going to hug you first, if that's alright." Warren had no idea what her boundaries were like these days, and in any case, hugging someone abruptly wasn't always a great idea. Especially if they were just a little bit twitchy.

And her eye twitched just a little bit. Vanessa's entire response was a delayed, "Do you have to?" Her tone was even a little hesitant. She wasn't really one for personal boundaries with people and given her attire and their history it seemed really stupid to start having them now. But it seemed like a weird slippery slope sort of thing. First there was hugging, then there was banter, then there was groping... And Vanessa knew exactly where groping led. She remembered it more vividly than the person she'd been then. "I mean, I guess I'm not opposed? I'm just...not sure it's a good idea. It's a gateway drug. Hugging leads to a hard life on the subway groping strangers," she finished, lightening the entire train of thought she didn't feel really needed to be vocalized. "It's a terrible fate."

"Yes, yes I do." He smiled. "There will be no groping. Or wandering hands. I'm a gentleman. Who will smack any wandering hands." Without giving her any more of an option, he folded his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. His wings came around to embrace her as well, and despite the temptation, he kept it purely platonic.

"Thank you," he said quietly and seriously, before pulling away and pressing a kiss against her forehead. "Now you can sit on my bench all you like. While I impress you with my fabulous culinary skills." Which was, if he remembered correctly, the point of her coming here.

Vanessa wasn't sure if it was the fact that she had done her best to not touch him since she had woken up in the mansion's medlab months ago for some inexplicable reason or the roller coaster of their encounter tonight, but the hug seemed rather...awkward. And strange. And, of course, familiar. But mostly strange. She had tensed up, being completely unable to react should anything or anyone come through a window or door. It ended quickly enough and the new tension eased away to leave the paranoid metamorph with her default level of tense and crazy to keep her company.

She hopped up on the counter behind her with a vaguely wet sound as her ass met the marble. "Yes, you promised me food. That would be edible. Edible is definitely the key here, you realize. I can food inedible food all on my own."

"It will be edible. So very edible. So much so, you'll be begging me to start feeding you on a regular basis again." He flashed her a grin, and went back to his preparations, feeling more settled within himself than he had in awhile. Not completely, but it was a start.

"I try to limit the number of people I beg for things," Vanessa replied in a somewhat flat voice edged with quiet innuendo. "You're going to have to wait until North's contract expires. He's really rather capable...in the kitchen." She grinned. "And he delivers."

"Competition, hrmmmm?" He grinned back at her as he started to pull out the necessary pots and pans for him to cook with. "That's okay, I can work with that. It just means I've got more incentive to keep up those cooking classes."