Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High.

Summary: The simplest of events can change a person deeply. Other not-so-simple events can change a person irrevocably; even if they become someone they had never imagined. These are the events that lead to the creation of Poison and Fire, and their reign of Chaos.

Warning: Just a quick reminder that this is rated M for a reason. There will be graphic scenes later on, of both torture and a sexual nature, and quite a lot of the chapters involve swearing. Please do not read if you're not comfortable with these things. I will put a warning for torture scenes.

Read on, oh faithful ones...

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Chapter Nine

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The after effects of Warren's smile lasted for a while longer than Layla thought they would, but half an hour later, she was bored.

Getting out her homework, she started on the essay she was had been assigned for English for Heroes. Each person in the class had been assigned a newspaper article about a hero's conquest of a villain, but rather than write about the hero, they were to write about the villain: his purpose, intent, and if he was really as bad as the media portrayed him to be. Even when she'd heard about the assignment, Layla had an uneasy feeling about it, reminded of the van with the satellite dish outside of her Great Aunt's house. It seemed as if this particular assignment was geared to see who could think like a villain rather than a hero. With that in mind, Layla intended to write two essays, one in favour and one against the villain. It would take more time, of course, but if she could review student's assignment from her class, then she'd be able to hand in the appropriate essay. She wasn't being paranoid, since everyone in the super world knew that the Mayor had access to a villain watch list, and Layla had no desire to be put on any such list over a school assignment. Or, after her recent Internet search, be put on any morewatch lists.

When she'd finished the outline for both of her essays, Layla decided that was enough for an hour's work. After tearing a blank page out of her notebook, she put the work back in her bag, and went to the door to check on the kitchen. As soon as the door was open a crack, loud noises filtered into the room. Swearing in both English and Cantonese; a bell dinging every time an order was ready to be served; instructions being shouted across the kitchen; and the pots and pans bubbling and sizzling away. She couldn't see Warren anywhere, so Layla closed the door again, the noise stopping immediately, and returned to the bench.

Certain that she was alone, Layla began to create an orchard of miniature trees on the piece of paper, everything from apples and oranges to lemons and nectarines appearing before her. She kept them up as long as she could, and when they faded back onto the page, Layla attempted it again with a slightly larger tree. By the time she heard the door open behind her two hours later, she had created an apple tree twenty centimetres tall and kept it there for exactly twenty-nine minutes. The door closed, and the tree disappeared, Layla turning to face whoever had come in.

"You all right, hippie?" Warren asked as he walked over to her, two bowls in his hands.

"Fine," she replied, smiling briefly.

He noted the blank piece of paper in her hand, and raised his eyebrow slightly. "You're not supposed to use your powers outside of school," he whispered mockingly.

She flushed slightly but didn't reply.

"I know it's not much, but congratulations on getting the job," he said, offering a bowl of rice and vegetables with black bean sauce.

"That's really nice; I was just going to buy a spring roll or something."

"Just say thank you, hippie," he muttered, sitting on the bench next to her and eating his own meal.

"Thank you, Warren," Layla said, smiling at him brightly.

They ate their food in silence, with the clicking of their chopsticks the only sound for a long time. (Layla was relieved to be able to eat Chinese food with someone who actually knew how to use chopsticks, rather than stabbing food with the pointy end. Or attempting to start a sword fight with her.)

"Oh, almost forgot. I snuck these out too," Warren said, reaching into his pocket for two fortune cookies. He passed one to her with a grin.

"Read mine?" she asked, breaking her cookie in half and offering the end that had the paper inside.

He nodded, doing the same with his own fortune cookie.

"You first this time," Layla prompted.

"To let true love remain unspoken is the quickest route to a heavy heart. Your lucky numbers are 29, 5, 7, 32, 18... Huh."

"Aren't those the same numbers as before?" she asked. "Don't the fortune companies usually print the same fortunes and numbers to save money?"

"Usually. You should have had the same numbers as the last time you got this fortune," Warren said, frowning at the tiny piece of paper.

"I'm telling you, those numbers must really be lucky or something," Layla muttered, then looked at the paper in her hands to read Warren's fortune. "All it takes to change the world is knowledge. Your lucky numbers are 18, 32, 7, 5, and 29... Okay, that's just freaking me out now. What are the odds of getting the same numbers four times in a row?"

"I have no idea, but I doubt the odds are meant to be this good. Maybe they really are lucky," Warren muttered.

The door opened, and a chef started telling Warren off loudly, something that even Layla could tell despite not knowing the language. His words were cut off sharply when he was pulled back into the kitchen by his apron. Moments later, Mrs. Woo appeared at the door, smiling.

"Sorry, sorry. Five more minutes on break, Warren," she said, the door closing behind her.

"Mrs. Woo must like you. She usually tells me off beforeKim," Warren said, looking at Layla quizzically.

"Is it good or bad that she likes me?"

"If I get paid for the extra five minutes, then it's definitely good," he replied with a grin. Then he sat up a bit straighter, his grin fading. "But then, she's cheap, and I don't know how much she likes you. I'd better get back."

"Thanks for the dinner, Warren," she said, squeezing his hand gently before he took their bowls and headed to the kitchen.

"Stay here, I'll take you home," he said over his shoulder.

Layla frowned as the door closed. Home. Was it weird that when he'd said that word, she'd immediately thought of his home, his black and red room? Was it weird that a house she'd lived in for almost four months felt less like home than a place she'd only spent the night at?

Deciding not to continue with her miniature tree growing, Layla created a small vine that wrapped around her arm. Try as she might, the vine refused to bloom, and frustrated, she made it disappear. A few minutes later, she made the vine appear again, but still, no flowers. She tried the same thing five more times over the following hour and a half, but each time received the same result: nothing.

Hearing the door open, Layla hurried to make the vine disappear, standing up when she saw it was one of the younger kitchen hands.

"Hey, you're Warren's girlfriend, right?" he asked, looking her over.

Layla made a noncommittal sound, uncomfortable in the way he was looking at her. Maybe the shirt and skirt really weren't as professional as she'd thought they were. She'd even made sure her skirt was below her knees! Her hands were clasped behind her back, and she started to make a sharp cactus plant.

"Hurry it up, Franco. If you don't get out now, Kim will probably make you stay here overnight."

"All right, Peace, I'm going, I'm going," he muttered, leaving the room quickly.

"You okay, hippie?" Warren said, frowning slightly.

"I'm fine," she replied, showing him the plant in her hand with a grin.

"Oddly enough, I'm impressed... Franco's not known for his subtlety when it comes to the opposite sex," he muttered, shaking his head. "My shift's finishing in about half an hour; do you want to sit out here?"

She nodded, realising that the noise from the kitchen was much quieter. Grabbing her bag, she stepped out beside Warren, seeing that there were only three other people in the kitchen, all of them cleaning up.

"Did you get your homework done?" Warren asked as he started to wipe down the bench.

"Started it. I've got an essay to write for English about the villain's point of view, intent, purpose, and if they really were evil," she said, watching the circular motions of the cloth as he cleaned. "I'm worried about it though; it's like they're trying to see who can think like a villain," Layla admitted quietly, frowning slightly when the cloth stopped moving.

"It's not a good thing to ace that essay. If you've got any qualms about failing, I suggest you put them aside," he said softly, looking at her intently.

"That's what I figured, which is why I started writing two essays."

Warren's intense expression faded and he grinned at her broadly. "Smart, aren't you, hippie?"

"Someone has to be," she retorted, grinning.

He raised an eyebrow at her insult, and flicked his cloth at her, drops of water hitting her face. She made a noise of indignation, dipping her hand into the basin and flicking water back at him. Warren grinned and picked up the extendable faucet and hose.

"You wouldn't," Layla said, but she sounded uncertain even to her own ears.

Warren cast a brief glance around the kitchen, his grin broadening when he realised that they were the only two left. "No one will hear you scream."

"Want to bet on that? I'm very good at screaming. All of those Damsel in Distress classes as a sidekick really teach you how to work your vocal chords."

He laughed at her words, the hose limp in his grasp. Layla snatched it away, turning the weapon back on him quickly.

"Oh, come on, hippie. You wouldn't."

"No one will hear you scream," she taunted, grinning.

Before he had time to say something about her stealing his lines, Layla squeezed the trigger, and Warren was sprayed with warm water. She laughed at his expression, but held the hose out of his reach. A brief thought had the water evaporating from his face in a warm rush of air, and Warren muttered under his breath about psychotic redheads.

"Oh, come on. I made sure it was warm so you wouldn't be hurt with a face full of cold water," Layla said, putting the tap back when he just kept glaring at her.

"What?"

"I doubt you'd enjoy getting doused in cold water when you're a fire ... fighters must be really strong, I mean with all of the lifting they have to do, people and the hoses and stuff, you wouldn't want to have some skinny kid trying to rescue you when he'd probably be crushed by the hose," Layla rambled.

The moment she'd paused, Warren had no doubt that someone had entered the kitchen, and quickly continued to clean the bench, nodding every so often at Layla's words.

"Aren't you done yet, Peace?"

"Just have this bench, and I will be," he replied, wiping the last of it and rinsing out the cloth in the sink. "All done. Come on, let's go," Warren said, grabbing his bag and quickly guiding Layla out of the kitchen. "See you tomorrow night, Kim," he called over his shoulder, the screen door closing with a slam behind him.

Before they'd even turned the corner, the main door was closed and bolted shut.

"Kim is very temperamental, especially when he thinks people aren't working," Warren muttered, continuing to guide Layla up the road, his arm around her waist.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have distracted you," she said with a sheepish look.

"Don't apologise; I was the one who asked you to sit out there with me... Oh, damn it! There goes your bus," he said, sighing as he saw the bus turning the corner ahead.

"It's all right; I didn't really want to go to my Great Aunt's house anyway," Layla admitted.

Warren nodded in understanding, and a moment later, they were crossing the street to get to the opposite bus stop. Not even a minute later, a bus pulled up, empty but for the driver.

"Get on," Warren said.

Trusting him, she stepped forward and boarded the bus. Warren got on behind her, leading her to the back.

"So where does this bus take us?" Layla asked when they were seated.

"It takes the scenic route through town, but one of the stops is only a few streets away from my home. You've missed the last bus to your Great Aunt's, and I'm not going to let you sleep on the street when I have a lumpy and uncomfortable couch to offer," Warren said, grinning.

"How kind of you," Layla drawled, but grinned in return. "Thank you, Warren."

"You're welcome, hippie. Now, tell me why you didn't use cold water..."

"You're a fire elemental, it just seemed kind of cruel to douse you in cold water. It would have hurt you more with the cold than it did with the warm water, am I right?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment, but then nodded. "I'm not good with cold things," he muttered, a memory of freezing water making him fold his arms to ward away the remembered cold.

"When you design your outfit, you should make sure to use a thicker material. Maybe one that absorbs water before it reaches your body... Or one that repels it completely," she murmured.

"Great, I'll start sewing sponges together, shall I?"

Layla just laughed, and he knew that she was imagining him walking around clad in multicoloured sponges.

"I was going to suggest a material similar to one used for wetsuits, but if you really want to go around being called Spongeman, then go ahead!"

"Do you think wetsuit material would work?" he asked, hoping to change the subject very quickly.

"It might, but I think some are designed to retain body heat, so you'd probably roast yourself. We will have to find a material that lets you power up without harming yourself," Layla replied.

Warren nodded in response, liking the 'we' part of her sentence more than he probably should have. He reached up around her, ringing the bell for the driver to stop at the next bus stop. He might have let his arm linger about her shoulders before pulling away, but neither one mentioned it. The bus stopped a moment later, and they got off, Layla thanking the driver over her shoulder.

"So, which way is home?" Layla asked, smiling at Warren.

Home. He could see their home together, a kitchen for him, a large garden for her, a library with a fireplace and plant boxes on the windowsills, their black, red and green bedroom... Okay, it was official, he desperately needed to get laid.

"This way," he said with a nod down a side street.

Layla followed him, wondering why Warren was suddenly being distant, and not just emotionally. She quickened her pace to catch up to him.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing, this just isn't the best part of town," he muttered in reply.

Layla looked at the cookie-cutter houses around them with their small white picket fences, pink flamingoes and novelty garden gnomes strewn about the yards. "Yeah, I can see that. I think that flamingo is the ringleader," she said, indicating to one with a small laugh. "Come on, what's really wrong? And do notsay it's the neighbourhood. I could run down the street naked and if anyone in this place was awake to see it, I'd be the talk of the neighbourhood for the rest of their natural born lives," she said, rolling her eyes.

Run down the street naked... Why on earth was she doing this to him? Had he cooked the rice too long or something? Was it some sort of revenge to see how hard she could make him?

Not replying, Warren just turned and continued walking, making Layla hurry after him again.

"If you don't tell me what's wrong, then I'll go sleep on the streets tonight," Layla threatened as Warren's home came into view.

"No, you wouldn't."

"I know a nice place with lots of trees and leaves; I would," she replied, stopping in her tracks and folding her arms over her chest. "Now tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," he replied truthfully.

Oh, no, of course there wasn't. There was absolutely nothing wrong with wanting to kiss her, imagining her naked, building an imaginary home for them to live in inside his head. It was so ridiculously right that he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she forgot her question.

"See you tomorrow, Warren," Layla said, turning and heading down the street.

He growled slightly, equally amazed and annoyed at how stubborn she was. A line of fire appeared before her, making Layla stop for a moment. Before Warren could feel too victorious, the fire was covered in a vine, and she smirked at him before turning to step over it. He frowned when she didn't move, simply looking at the vine in front of her. What was wrong? He warred with himself for a moment, easily succumbing and moving over to where Layla was frozen on the spot.

"What's wrong?"

"The vine; it's flowering," Layla replied, sounding stunned.

"Yeah, so? We did the same thing before."

"I made the same vine earlier tonight, and it refused to bloom... It was missing something; your fire."

They were both silent for a moment, simply looking down at the green, red and black flowers blooming from the vine.

"Will you please just tell me what's wrong, Warren?" Layla asked.

He was surprised to see tears in her eyes, and immediately hated himself for being the cause of them. Warren sighed, wondering how to tell her what he'd been thinking without sounding completely insane. She shook her head at his silence, and moved to leave again. He grabbed Layla's arm before she could, pulling her against him. Kissing her, Warren kept his hands on her shoulders. He tried to keep control when she kissed him back, her arms around his neck, and quickly pulled his hands away when he felt the flames starting. Layla pulled away from the kiss, her eyes half lidded, and licked her lips.

"Nothing wrong with that," she murmured, opening her eyes properly, smiling at him.

The light from his hands cast interesting shadows on her face, and he watched the dark and light battle across her features.

"I didn't think you'd want anyone near you after Stro..."

Layla kissed him, stopping his words. "Let's not talk about him, okay?"

He agreed with a quick nod.

"Come on, it's getting late, let's go home," she said, taking his hand and heading towards his home. Behind them, the vine disappeared, the petals fading to nothing.

In minutes, Warren had unlocked the front door, let Layla inside, and followed after her, closing and re-locking the door behind him. His mother would already be home, but fast asleep, and he probably wouldn't see her until tomorrow afternoon.

"Is it weird that I think of this as more of a home than I do my Great Aunt's house?" Layla asked in a murmur, her fingers trailing along the wall gently.

"I don't think so," Warren replied, shrugging.

She yawned suddenly, hiding it behind her hand with a guilty look. "Sorry, I didn't sleep well last night," she admitted.

Warren didn't reply, taking her hand and leading her down to his bedroom. "You have the bed this time. I'll be on the couch."

"No, Warren. I wouldn't be able to sleep knowing you're out there. It's your bed, you stay here."

He rolled his eyes at her, sitting on the bed to undo his laces and take his boots off. "Get under the sheet already, hippie."

"What?"

"Get into bed. We're both going to sleep on the bed, and I promise I will continue to be a perfect gentleman," Warren said, trying not to sound as sarcastic as he could have.

Layla frowned slightly, but thankfully, didn't argue, and simply reached down to take her shoes off as well.

"You might want to sleep in your gym shirt; I have a very high body temperature," he said, receiving a nod in reply.

Warren turned around and closed his eyes while Layla changed into her gym shirt and shorts, and she did the same as he stripped down to a pair of briefs. There was an embarrassed silence as they faced each other, and Layla's gaze immediately travelled down. She quickly looked up after seeing the tight briefs, her cheeks red.

"Get in. I don't usually cover up, so you can be safe under the sheet," he said with a slight grin.

Nodding, Layla climbed into the bed, pulling the sheet up as she lay down, facing him. Warren waited until she was comfortable before moving to the bed, lying beside her.

"Good night, Warren," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Good night, Layla," he murmured.

...

End of the ninth chapter.

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it!