Disclaimer: I only wish I owned West Side Story. Alas, I only own the DVD of the movie and some recordings.

Note: I watched the movie again last week, was completely taken with Ice, and fell into a vortex of fanfiction ideas. More fanfics to follow.

Note the Second: Revised 5.19.10 to fit into the universe of LCV Productions.

—viennacantabile

catch the moon

.

In chaos, I searched for her hundreds, thousands of times. Suddenly, I turned by chance, and there she was in the receding light.

—Xīn Qìjí, "Night of the Shang Yuan Festival"

.

He's almost out the door when he hears Riff.

"Hey, Ice—hang on a minute."

Ice turns, surprised, to look back into Doc's candy store as the other Jets peel off in different directions down the street. They've just finished hashing out exactly how they are going to keep those idiot Hawks out of their territory—the usual scout, burn, and blitz tactics—and as far as Ice is concerned, there is nothing left to say. "Thought we covered everything."

Riff shrugs, his eyes shifting around. "Just siddown, will ya?" He pats the same chair Ice has just left.

Ice moves past Doc's counter to the table in the back and plunks himself down, eyeing his friend and feeling a little doubtful. The Jet lieutenant has that sheepish look on his face that promises that whatever it is, Ice is probably not going to like it. "Whaddaya want, Riff?"

"Look, ah—Ice," Riff says, scratching his head and avoiding his gaze. "I need a favor."

"Sure, Daddy-O," Ice says, brightening. The last time Riff asked for a favor, he'd gotten to flatten a few dumb jocks who'd been stupid enough to knock the top gang in the city. Ice is more than happy to do it again, too—it's been awhile since their last rumble, and he's always ready to take down a punk, anyway. His pleasure, really. "Who is it?"

"Well, it's my girl," Riff says. "Graziella. You know her."

Ice blinks. Sure, he knows Graziella—bright red hair, hell of a figure, and a mouth that never stops moving. But he doesn't see why Riff is bringing her up. "Ya want me to knock out your girl? What'd she do?"

Riff stops for a second, then releases a short, humorless laugh. "Nah, not that kinda favor," he says, looking antsy. "Worse'n that."

"Just spit it out, then," says Ice, feeling very wary now. He is ready for just about anything—one-on-one fight with the Hawks, a stealth mission into Muscler territory, even a raid on the police stationhouse—but not for what Riff says next:

"Double with me'n Graziella tomorrow night at the movies, would ya?"

Ice's jaw just about drops as he stares at Riff, flummoxed. His friend doesn't look like he's going crazy, but isn't that kind of thing supposed to come on gradually, anyway? "Say what?"

Riff sighs. "Come on, can't be that bad, can it?"

"Depends on the girl, don't it?" returns Ice, swallowing hard as he thinks about the available Jet girls. Just about the only one who isn't either taken or not taken enough is Minnie, and asking the Jets' little sister on a date is not something he wants to do. But there aren't exactly alternatives out there. He shudders. "I ain't takin' that Anybodys kid."

Riff snorts and lands a punch on Ice's shoulder. "That ain't a girl, and I ain't askin' ya to, anyhow. Name's Velma," he says. "You don't know her. She's a real looker, all right? Blonde. From the East Side. Look, buddy, you know me, I wouldn't stick ya with a horseface or nothin'."

"Yeah, I know," Ice says with a sigh, and he does. Riff is one of his best friends. And a Jet, which means just as much, if not more. "So why ya need the double date, then?" he asks, feeling just a little less leery. "An' who's this girl, anyway?"

"Ice, man, y'know how we got them rules 'n stuff?" says Riff. "Like how I got your back an' you got mine, an' like how we don't never rumble without layin' out the terms with the other gang?"

"Yeah," nods Ice. Every gang worth its name knows the unwritten code of the streets, so of course all the Jets do. "What's that gotta do with it?"

Riff leans forward across the table and stage-whispers: "Well—turns out chicks got 'em, too."

Ice lets out a chuckle, leaning back in his chair. Just about the only code he's ever seen observed by Graziella, Minnie, Clarice, Bernice, and Pauline is that at every dance they have to spend half an hour telling each other how wonderful they look. "Aww, go on."

"No, no, I ain't lyin'!" protests Riff, jumping out of his chair and directing his best innocent face at Ice. "'S true! An' it ain't just how they never go off to the ladies' alone, neither!"

Ice eyes him. Yep, he thinks, rolling his eyes, there's definitely that one, too. Not for the first time, Ice is very relieved he doesn't have to deal with a steady girlfriend. Sure, he likes chicks—who doesn't?—but in his opinion, most of the girls he knows are way too much talk and not enough action. "Yeah, well, even if it is true, how's that got anythin' to do with you'n Graziella an' this Velma girl?"

"That's what I'm tryin' to tell ya, buddy-boy," says Riff. "So listen up, would ya? Okay, say about a month ago," he continues, pacing between the tables, "Graz starts talkin' 'bout her new friend Velma. That's cool, good for her, I like for a dame to have friends. Means she don't start tryin' to hang around with the Jets, right? An' I meet the chick, an' she's nice. Not like Graz, sure, but nice. An' a coupla weeks after that, they're stuck together like one of them new PR punks on tamale. An' again, that ain't the problem."

"Then what is?" asks Ice. He's not sure Riff even hears him, the Jet is so wound up.

"So one day I an' Graz make these plans to go see a movie, right, an' I'm all jazzed up an' I'm swingin' an' I go to pick her up. I get there, an' Graz's still gettin' ready with Velma. Finally I'm ready to go out, she's ready to go out, an' all of a sudden Graz remembers that Velma ain't got no plans. So she brings her along to the movie and lemme tell ya, buddy-boy," Riff says, a black look on his face, "there ain't nothin' like a best friend to throw a wrench in the works for a big night out."

"Sure," agrees Ice. "But just the one time, right?"

Riff groans, throwing up his hands as his pace doubles. "That's the trouble, it ain't! Every time I go over there, Velma's there, too! Every flippin' time, the same thing happens. An' if I bring it up to Graz, she just keeps spinnin' sob stories 'bout how can she leave Velma all on her lonesome an' if I love her I should love her friends, too, an' all I'm thinkin' is how I ain't seen Graz on her own in a month an' I'm goin' crazy here!"

"Yeah, ya ain't been lookin' too good lately," Ice says, and shakes his head. He's never had Riff's problem, but it's not exactly hard to imagine. "Can't say I blame ya."

"So, bottom line," says Riff, coming to an abrupt stop in front of him, "I gotta find someone for this Velma chick or I gotta go piss off six of them Emeralds, an' I an' you both know I don't wanna do that."

Ice grimaces. "That bad, huh."

"Being the gentleman I am," says Riff in his best polite-society accent, ignoring Ice's snort, "I prefer the quick and sudden death to the slow suicide."

"Yeah, sure," Ice mutters, and sighs. "So why I gotta do the job?"

Riff snickers. "Try thinkin'-a Action or A-Rab or one of the guys with a dame, would ya? A real classy one, I mean, not a broad-for-the-one-thing like Pauline."

Ice has to laugh, too. How Action and A-Rab normally treat chicks definitely wouldn't sit well with some stuck-up East Side girl. And even if she's not—even if Riff's just putting him on to get him to go—if this Velma's anything like Graziella (and since they're best friends, she very well could be) he has no problem imagining Action knocking her out in five minutes and A-Rab just insulting her all night. "Even that Baby John kid'd be better than those punks."

Riff lets out a snort. "Hell, Baby John wouldn't know what to do with a chick if we dropped one in his lap."

"Poor kid." Ice shakes his head. "Look, Riff, I feel for ya, I really do, but you know I ain't exactly great with chicks. 'Specially not one who ain't even from around here."

But Riff is not to be dissuaded. "Just 'cause ya ain't never tried don't mean ya wouldn't be good with 'em," he wheedles. Then he rolls his eyes. "Anyway, didn't ya hear? Chicks like the strong, silent type, an' buddy-boy, you ain't nothin' if not that."

Ice winces. He's definitely heard more of that kind of talk from Pauline than he'd like. "Well, what about Tony? Ain't he popular with the girls?" he asks, skirting the issue. After all, he figures, it's worth a shot.

Riff heaves a sigh and flops back into his chair. "Tried. Tony, he's been actin' all funny lately. Always busy nowadays with I don't know what. Says he ain't got no time for chicks. An' I say, Tony, buddy, now I know youse gone crazy. There's always time for chicks."

Ice shrugs, unable to see Riff's point. "Never found a chick I wanted to make time for."

"Well, maybe this'll be the one!" offers Riff. "'Sides," he goes on, "you're a good-lookin' fella, she'll like ya. An' don't never tell nobody I said that, or I'll punch your lights out."

Ice stares at him, a little disturbed. "I don't even wanna remember you said that, Daddy-O," he snorts. "An' like ya could, anyway."

"Look, ya don't gotta marry her, just take her out for one night," Riff says, serious for once. "What's it gonna hurt? I'm beggin' ya, Ice. Jet to Jet."

Riff really is desperate, Ice thinks, feeling a sinking in his stomach that tells him he's well and truly stuck. If Ice is any kind of Jet, any kind of friend at all…well, it's a tall order, but his buddy's in a jam. He sighs. "What do I gotta do?"

Riff's grin switches on like a lightbulb and Ice realizes, with a sense of impending doom, that his lieutenant has never had any doubt at all about Ice saying yes. "Just come with me to Graziella's place, go out with us, keep her talkin' an' not lookin', an' take her home so's I can get Graz on her own. All ya gotta do, buddy-boy. An' if ya don't like her, ya never gotta do it again."

.

By the time the next day rolls around and they're standing at the door to Graziella's apartment, Ice has thought of six hundred and fifty-seven ways to get out of the double date, none of which hold up in the face of his fellow Jet's situation, and is desperately wishing he hadn't gone along with Riff. He's never had anything to say to any of the girls he knows, and if anything, this East Side girl will be ten times worse. Riff, he thinks darkly with a frustrated growl, this is all Riff's fault. Not to mention—

Ice, for the tenth time, makes a futile tug at his shirt-collar and jacket, annoyed. "Why the hell'd I gotta wear a tie, Riff?" he hisses. "You never said nothin' 'bout that."

"'Cause you're in the presence of the ladies now, Ice," retorts Riff, punching the doorbell. He himself is spruced up in a jacket and tie of his own. "An' if I know Graziella—an' I think I do—she won't let ya in spittin' distance of her best friend if ya don't look like a gentleman."

Ice groans. "Jesus, Riff, if you weren't one-a my best buddies—"

Before he can finish, Graziella opens the door in a flashy green dress that leaves very little to the imagination and looks Ice up and down. "Oh, good," she says to Riff, smirking, "ya didn't bring any-a the munchkins."

Ice raises an eyebrow. Graziella is all right, for a chick, he supposes, but he doesn't know how Riff manages to hear himself think when he's with her. Not to mention she doesn't seem to know when to maybe keep her mouth shut. Sure, Action and A-Rab and the Boyer twins are short, but they're still Jets. He glances at Riff to see his reaction, but the lieutenant just shrugs.

"Real cute, Graz," Riff says, rolling his eyes. "Ya ready?"

The redhead titters. "In a minute, Daddy-O." She sizes Ice up one more time before disappearing back inside. Riff glances at Ice, jerks his head for him to follow as he pushes the door open and walks into the apartment. Graziella is just vanishing behind another door at the end of the hall.

"Where's your old man?" calls Riff. "He ain't home, is he?"

"Nah," they hear faintly, "still down at the bar, like always!"

"His loss, my gain," Riff mutters, voice carefully low. Then he raises it again. "An' Fred?"

"Spendin' the night at Chris's!"

Riff cracks his knuckles and flashes Ice an electric grin. "The kid's cute—practically worships me—but if he'd been around, I woulda gone nuts." He whistles. "Damn, things are lookin' good for tonight, buddy-boy."

Ice can't help half-smiling back. "Sounds like you're in luck, Daddy-O."

Riff jiggles up and down on his heels, still grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah, maybe, if we ever get outta here. Hey, you chicks get a move on, okay?" he says, as they reach the half-open door to Graziella's bedroom. "The movie starts in ten, at ten, so don't take all night."

Ice heaves a sigh. He can hear giggling and bits of high-pitched conversation in there, and he is not looking forward to spending an entire movie with another Graziella. Riff, standing across the doorway from him, shoots him a warning glance just as Graziella sticks her head out of the room and looks Ice up and down again. "So, ya think he's Vel's type?" she asks Riff. Then she snorts. "Wait, actually, I guess I gotta ask if she's his type. I don't know why ya don't like girls, Ice."

Riff grins. "Oh, he likes girls, all right," he says, shooting Ice a knowing look. "Trust me."

The redhead rolls her eyes. "Well, I don't see why he don't just date one an' save us all the trouble-a wonderin'." She points a catlike smirk at Ice. "Me, I don't see how you've gone so long without one. Ya don't even hit up Pauline, do ya?"

"Nope," says Riff as Ice forces an uncomfortable smile, "he don't, but that don't keep him from bein' second to none in a fight. Best man I got, 'sides Tony."

Ice clears his throat, wishing the redhead would stop discussing his social life like he's not even there. He is perfectly fine being single, if it's that or kissing up to a girl like Graziella. "Hello, Graz."

"Hello, Ice," she purrs, before darting back into her room again. "I an' Velma'll be ready in a minute!" she calls over her shoulder.

Riff rolls his eyes. "Baby, that's what ya said five minutes ago."

And a girl slips through the door to face him. "Sorry, Riff," she says with a laugh. "My fault."

"Yeah, yeah, like I'm gonna believe that," the Jet lieutenant grumbles. Then his eyes light up. "Hey, Velma," he says, pointing behind her, "this here's Ice."

"Yeah?" The girl turns around, smiles. Ice can see her for the first time now, and all he notices is she's got a pair of eyes that look like pieces straight from the sky and a smile that hits him like the sun's just come up.

"Ice," says Riff, grinning, "meet Velma Andersen."

"Hey," Ice says, and now he can see the short blonde hair curling around her face and the pale blue dress over knockout legs. Well, he thinks, a little bit stunned, Riff was telling the truth about her looks, at least.

"Hey yourself," Velma replies with another smile. "Lemme go get Graz," she tells Riff, and slides back through the door, shutting it behind her.

"What'd I tell ya, Ice?" asks Riff with a smirk so smug it ought to be illegal. "Cute, huh?"

Ice just nods. Cute is the least of what Velma Andersen is. "She ain't bad, Riff."

There is an explosion of excited whispering behind the door, and Riff laughs. "Looks like she don't think you're too bad, neither."

An uncomfortable Ice only has time to shrug before the door opens again and Graziella and Velma parade out. They're carrying purses now, but Ice, looking them over, can't see any difference from a few minutes ago. Which, he thinks, isn't necessarily a bad thing.

"Graz, baby," says Riff with a whistle, "ya look gorgeous. Straight outta my dreams."

She beams up at him and wraps her arms around his waist. "Thanks, Riffy-poo."

Riff gives Ice a quick shove with his free hand, and Ice, taking the hint, turns to his date. "Ya look nice," he says to Velma appreciatively.

She grins at him. "You ain't lookin' too shabby, neither."

"Well, now that we all know we're one good-lookin' bunch, we gonna get this show on the road, or what?" asks Riff, checking an imaginary watch. "Movie starts now and we gotta walk, ladies." He starts off toward the apartment door, Graziella hanging on his arm and already gabbing away.

Velma glances at Ice, who clears his throat and gestures in front of him. Other than Riff and Tony, the best friend he has is Big Deal, who is forever telling him how Clarice swoons at the cheesy romantic stuff. Ice, who has no idea how to talk to girls, let alone one as pretty as the one in front of him, figures he might as well take Big Deal's advice. "Ladies first."

Velma doesn't quite swoon, but she doesn't exactly run away, either. With a giggle, she follows Riff and Graziella, and Ice, watching her go, thinks he's in for a hell of a lot more than he signed up for tonight.

.

They get to the movie twenty minutes late, stopping for Graziella's extra-large extra-buttered popcorn and Velma's chocolate-chip cookie on the way in. For once, Ice, digging out the cash for the cookie, is okay with paying for something he could just as easily swipe—he's more than paid back by the million-dollar smile he gets for his trouble. What isn't okay, though, is the way his stomach turns over when he hands it over and his fingers brush hers. Uncomfortable, and unsettling. Must have had something bad to eat, he thinks uneasily. That has to be it.

When they walk in the theater, Riff nudges him meaningfully and Ice watches as he and Graz head off to the back, before looking down at Velma. She shrugs—again with that smile that makes his stomach do a flip—so he hurriedly picks a spot a few rows ahead of them. Ice, though he's never actually taken a girl to one before, knows that movies are just an excuse for an hour and a half of making out, and he's not exactly averse to doing that with Velma. Somehow, though, he's pretty sure she's not the kind of girl who would do that on the first date. She's definitely no Pauline, that's obvious. So Plan B, he thinks with a sigh. Actually watching the movie.

They settle into their seats, and Ice glances back to see Riff and Graziella already making out. He shakes his head and turns back around. Velma looks back, too, and lets out a soft giggle.

"I think they've been wantin' to do that for awhile," she whispers in his ear.

"Yeah," he says, and leans back to watch the flickering screen. It's some musical flick with Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, and Grace Kelly, and from what he can tell, it's the same old dumb over-the-top romantic stuff Ice couldn't give a damn about. Still, though, he remembers Big Deal's stories and resolves to pay attention. At the very least, it'll impress her, he figures, and Ice has to admit that he wouldn't mind that at all.

Except it's impossible to concentrate on the movie. Instead he's intensely aware of her skin just barely not touching his, and the gentle curves of her slender body—so very unlike his own—sitting right next to him. Hell, it's enough to drive any guy crazy, let alone Ice, who hasn't been out with a girl in more than a year. God, he thinks, inhaling long and slow, now that he really considers it, how has he been able to stand it?

And then he's caught by her smile again as she watches the screen. When she smiles, Ice notices, really smiles, she has dimples. It's almost unfair—she doesn't even need it, but it makes her even prettier than she is already.

Then she turns the slightest bit to gaze at him with her clear blue eyes and Ice, only now realizing he is staring, blinks, embarrassed. With a sigh, he readies himself for her to start giggling or teasing him to death or acting like a regular princess. After all, if Velma really is from the East Side, it's right about time for her to start looking down on him for being some dirty gang member. Hell, even the West Side girls do that sometimes, and they live here.

But instead she just gives him that goddamn smile—again—and settles back into her seat to watch the movie.

Ice's jaw nearly drops open and he stares for another ten seconds before snapping his gaze back over to the screen. What the hell? he thinks, astounded. Ice doesn't know a single girl who would have let that opportunity slide, not when it was right there, practically on a silver platter. Not one. So why did she?

Ten minutes of turning the question over in his head, and he is no closer to an answer. Ice has no clue what to think about this girl. Sure, she's a knockout, but he's seen a lot of pretty girls hanging around since becoming a Jet. If he's completely honest with himself, she's not all that special. She's a looker, all right, just like Riff promised, and that's it.

But the fact of the matter is, he can't stop watching her. Ice spends the rest of the movie stealing glances at her out of the corner of his eye, tracing every feature with the attention he usually reserves for a rival gang around rumble time. It's the dumbest thing, he thinks, half-angry with himself, because there is no rhyme or reason behind it. No explanation. Nothing. God, he's stupid. Pretty or not, she is just a girl. And girls, especially when you are a Jet, are a dime a dozen.

Velma glances over at him then. "Enjoyin' the movie?" she whispers, leaning in close, and Ice catches a whiff of some sweet scent.

"Yeah," he answers automatically as he breathes in deeper. Vanilla, he thinks. Maybe some kind of cake?

"Me, too," she says, dimpling, before moving back to her former position again. All Ice can smell now is stale popcorn and a whole lot of other people, and his mind clears. Forget her, he thinks, almost a little scared, what the hell is wrong with him?

After a moment, he lets a small, reluctant smile creep onto his face. He has no idea, but, Ice thinks, glancing over again, maybe he wouldn't mind finding out.

.

"Hey, Ice," calls Riff as they spill out of the theater and into the night, arm around Graziella. "You, ah—wouldn't mind walkin' Velma home, would ya?" He winks, and Graziella giggles.

"Yeah, sure," Ice says, keeping his tone cool and unaffected. "No sweat, Riff." He waves as the couple strolls off, then looks down at Velma. "Where ya live?"

The blonde meets his gaze and shakes her head with a laugh. "'Cross the street from Graz."

Ice raises an eyebrow. Well. That's something Riff didn't mention. "Ya do."

Velma shrugs. "Yeah. We can go 'round the other way, though," she offers. "'S a little longer, but I'm thinkin' Riff ain't gonna be too happy if we follow 'em."

"Yeah," agrees Ice, who is not exactly opposed to extending the date, himself. "Let's go."

As they move off over the sidewalk in the opposite direction they hear Graziella giggle from behind them. "Y'know, Riffy-poo, I always thought Ice was an okay guy—little too quiet, maybe—but now I really like him!"

Ice blinks, a bit embarrassed, then shakes his head. "That Graz."

Velma smiles at him. "S'okay," she teases. "I like ya, too."

Ice isn't the blushing kind of guy, but he can feel the tips of his ears getting warm. "Thanks," he mutters. Here it goes, he thinks with a sigh. Girls and their flipping touchy-feely stuff. He should have known it was too good to last, back in the movie when no one was talking.

"So," she says after a pause, "did ya like the movie?"

Damn, he thinks, drawing a blank. This is where he was supposed to get on her good side, but he can't even remember who was in it now. "Yeah, sure."

"Really?" she blinks. "I thought it was kinda dumb."

Damn, Ice thinks again, and shrugs. "Yeah, well."

Velma laughs. "I'm just kiddin', Ice. I liked it, too. Sinatra's one-a my favorites. Grace Kelly, too."

"Ya look kinda like her," he offers, seeing the opening.

"Really?" She sounds pleased.

"Yeah," Ice says, taking the opportunity to glance at her again. Then he figures he might as well try Big Deal's advice again. "'Cept prettier."

His eyes widen in chagrin as Velma starts laughing. "Oh, Ice," she says when she catches her breath, "that's real sweet. Even if it ain't true. Thanks."

"Welcome," Ice mutters, feeling thoroughly chastened. And that, he thinks with a sigh, is the last time he tries a Big Deal. He watches as she reaches up to tug at her blonde hair, blown out of place from the breeze, and shivers. "Ya cold?" he asks, grasping at the chance to change the subject. It's July, but Velma's dress isn't exactly the warmest-looking thing he's ever seen. Not, he thinks, taking a covert peek, that he minds.

She looks startled. "A little, yeah."

"Here ya go," Ice says, shrugging off his jacket and settling it on her shoulders. The night air is a relief. "Warm now?" he asks. It's huge on her.

"Yeah," she smiles. "Thanks."

They walk along in silence for a few minutes. Ice, a little bit less distracted now that Velma's covered up, takes a good look at the street and realizes they're skirting the edges of Hawk territory. But Ice, even if he hasn't had any experience carting a dame around, has seen enough of the Jets' girls to figure out that he doesn't want to have to deal with a panicking date. So he doesn't say anything to Velma, just keeps an eye out and doesn't relax until they're out of the danger zone and onto a safe street, deep in their own territory.

He turns to see her watching him. "Somethin' wrong?" she asks.

"Nah," he answers automatically. "Why d'ya ask?"

Velma's curious gaze doesn't waver. "For awhile there, ya looked—not scared, but like you were lookin' out for trouble."

Ice stares at her. "We were pretty close to Hawk territory," he finally says. "Another gang."

"An' that's bad?" she asks, blue eyes still fixed on him.

He shrugs. "Could be."

"Oh," she says. Ice waits for her to go into the same speech they all do, about how he shouldn't be in a gang and how it's dangerous and does he want to get killed? He's heard it all from his ma before, and it doesn't get any more convincing after the first few hundred times. Not that any of them would believe that.

Except she doesn't, just keeps on walking like there's nothing else in the world to do.

Huh, Ice thinks, startled and not a little intrigued. He has been thinking of her as a blonder, prettier, slightly quieter version of the girls he has known all his life, but now Ice considers, for the first time, the possibility that she is different. That Velma is that best of combinations: pretty, and knows when to shut up.

A few blocks later, though, she turns to him and grins. "I bet ya could take 'em."

Ice shakes his head and laughs. She keeps surprising him. "Hawks can't fight worth a damn," he agrees, "but it'd be a risk, with you around."

Velma smiles. "I still bet ya could take 'em," she repeats, and Ice, even though his jacket is draped on her shoulders, feels a pleasant warmth steal over him. It feels good, he realizes half-reluctantly, walking with her. Comfortable. Which is not something he ever thought he'd say about a dame.

Ice sneaks another glance down at Velma as they saunter along, wondering what she's thinking. Unlike all the other girls he's met, it's not so easy to tell, with her.

"Look, thanks for comin'," she says after another block, dimples showing. "Graz kept wantin' me to go with her on all their dates—said somethin' about seein' a couple movies for a change—but I was gettin' pretty bored with just them two all the time, y'know? An' we both know Riff wasn't too happy about it."

Ice looks at her sideways, surprised again. She's smarter than Graziella, that's for sure. "So how come a pretty girl like you don't got a guy to help ya out with that?" he asks, and for once he really wants to know.

Velma spins around to face him, walking backwards. "Might as well ask why a big tough handsome guy like yourself don't got a girl," she teases, grinning.

"Yeah, well," he mutters. He's been asked this question so many times that Ice is starting to wonder if he really is all that odd for not having one. It's not as if he doesn't like girls—hell, if it comes to that, he loves girls—but mostly they're all too loud and annoying. Which is not exactly something he can tell the guys who are dating them. "Just choosy, I guess."

Ice is a few paces ahead when he realizes she's stopped and turns to look at her.

"Yeah," Velma says, and smiles at him. "I get it. Me, too."

Not knowing what to say to that, Ice holds out his hand to her to tell her to catch up. When she links it with hers, he almost yanks away, startled. It's not unpleasant, though—her skin is just as soft and warm as it looks—and Ice, thinking it over, supposes he doesn't really mind, after all. In fact, he's actually disappointed when she stops, a block later, and lets go.

"This's me," Velma says, waving at the building next to them and handing his jacket back. She doesn't move, though.

"Is it," he says, folding his jacket over his arm.

"Nice night," she says in a soft voice, gazing up at the midnight sky. Ice looks up at the full moon, and back down at her face.

"Yeah," he agrees a beat late, distracted.

"Y'know, when I was little," says Velma, "I used to look up at the moon an' ask my dad to catch it for me. It was so pretty I wanted to keep it." She laughs. "Ever do anythin' stupid like that?"

Ice blows the air out from his lungs, restless at this mention of home and family and all those things that mean run like hell and don't look back. "Not with my old man, no," he says shortly. Then he glances back at her face, tilted up in the light, and softens. "But I think I know what ya mean, yeah."

And it's so easy to look at her and lose himself in her pale blue eyes all lit up by the moon that he bends down and kisses her without even thinking. Her lips are sweet, soft, and as she returns his kiss Ice inhales that dizzying scent again. Vanilla, he confirms vaguely, letting his hands rest on her back, though she tastes like chocolate—probably from that cookie. But then she slips her arms around him, and oh, God, who the hell cares about defining who she is or what she tastes like as long as she is right there, making him feel this way? It's like nothing he's ever known before, and right there and then, he knows he is a goner.

When she breaks away, the glow of the moon is still on her face as she smiles at him. Catch the moon, he thinks to himself, trying to understand this feeling as Velma turns and makes her way up the stairs. In the back of his mind, though, Ice knows that every man before him has tried the same thing, and every one of them has failed. Jesus, he thinks, shaking his head wonderingly. How the hell did this happen?

Velma has reached the door when she pauses and turns to look at him. "Say, Ice," she says. "Graz 'n Riff were talkin' about maybe goin' down to Palisades Park this Saturday." She pauses. "You up for it?"

Ice looks at her, aching to walk right up those stairs and kiss her again. And that is how he knows another date is a very, very bad idea. She's pretty and knows when to shut up, yeah, but Velma Andersen is a hell of a lot more than that. She makes him think like no other girl has before, and that's dangerous for a guy like him. So this, he knows, is where he should take his own advice and get out now, do like Riff said and never see her again.

But as he gazes up at her Ice realizes that's not an option anymore. And he nods. "Yeah. I'll be there."

"Great," she says, her dimples flashing in the dimness of the night again. "See ya then."

Ice half-smiles, wondering what the hell he's doing, and decides he doesn't care. "See ya."

.

The next day, Ice is just rounding the corner to Doc's when he sees Riff waving at him from the alley next door. Ice heads over, careful to keep a nonchalant look on his face. His so-called friend might have just doomed him to the worst kind of misery possible, but Ice is not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. "Hey, Riff."

Riff, looking happier than Ice's seen him in weeks, claps a hand on his shoulder. "Ice, my man, I owe ya the fuckin' world."

"Things go well?" asks Ice, amused in spite of himself.

"Oh, Jesus, Ice, it was even better'n the time I an' Graz—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," interrupts Ice, pretty sure he doesn't want the details.

"It's just—ah—" Riff stops, fidgeting.

Ice, knowing what he's about to say and very much enjoying watching him try and get it out, nods. "What?"

"So uh—Graz's been wantin' to take a trip down to Palisades Park," says a sheepish Riff. "An' I thought since you 'n Velma sorta hit it off last night, you could maybe take her when we go Saturday." He flashes a winning smile at Ice. "Whaddaya say?"

Ice heaves a sigh, figuring he might as well milk it and get something out of all this. "Well, I don't know, Riff."

"Look, I know I said just the one time, maybe, but it wasn't so bad, was it?" pleads Riff, melodramatically dropping to his knees. "I owe ya big time, I know. But if ya wouldn't mind helpin' a fellow Jet out again—"

Ice snorts, and decides he might as well let Riff off the hook. After all, even if his buddy has condemned him to that fate which is worse than death, Ice has a feeling he's going to enjoy it. "Get up, ya dope," he sighs, and flaps his hand. "It's cool, Riff. I can make it."

Riff's grin flicks right back on again as he springs to his feet. "I guarantee you'll have the time of your life, buddy-boy—I mean, it's Palisades Park! Cotton candy, rides, all that jazz—a gorgeous dame—how could ya not?"

"Yeah, but remember, you owe me," says Ice firmly. He doesn't want Riff to get off too easy.

"Done. You're a real pal, Ice," Riff says, clapping him on the back. "And oh—by the way," he adds, smirking, as they walk over to Doc's door, "real smooth last night, what with the compliment, an' the jacket an' the holdin' hands an' the kiss, man—must be a real chore for ya, keepin' her company, eh?" He snickers as Ice stares at him, frozen. "I gotta hand it to ya, buddy-boy—never thought ya had it in ya!"

Ice groans. "Graziella's window," he sighs, kicking himself for not thinking of it. Yep, he thinks, he definitely should've said no when he'd still had the chance.

Riff snorts. "Yeah, right, like I didn't have better things to look at last night than your ugly mug kissin' a girl." He dodges as Ice, coming back to life, swings a punch at him, then ducks inside the candy store, still cackling gleefully.

"One thing ya still gotta learn about chicks, Ice—ain't nothin' a secret with 'em!"

.

.end.