Disclaimer: Not mine. Still.
Memories
He's sitting on the couch, sniffling, not even bothering to wipe the tears from his face. The door slams, causing him to jump and look up. His father is approaching him—she's not there, she's gone, she left him—his face angry.
"Why are you crying?" he demands.
Taking a struggling breath, he manages, "Y-y-you don't want me."
He sighs loudly and kneels in front of him, not so angry anymore. "Look, it's not that I don't want you; it's just, I really wasn't expecting you."
"Because I'm a mistake."
"I never said that."
"She did," he states, wringing the bottom of his shirt around his hands. "She told me lots of times. She wishes she'd got an ab-abor…"
"Abortion?" his dad offers.
He nods weakly and continues, "It's because I'm a freak and a monster."
"Why? Because of how you look? Because of your powers? No, kid, she has it wrong. There's nothing wrong with you—you're different, that's all." After a moment, he adds, "I have a friend who's a lot like you."
"Really?"
"Really. You can meet her one day. You'd like that?"
He nods, the last of his tears dripping off his face. Gathering his courage, he asks, "You have powers like me too, right?"
"Not exactly. I need a machine. But you, you can do it all by yourself, without any help. That's pretty cool."
"You think?"
"Of course. Show me again, okay?"
The ice appears, thick upon his small hands. This time, his dad smiles—it's not big but it's really happy and it's more than she's ever given him—and says, "Impressive. But I bet with training, you'll be able to do even more."
"You'll train me?"
"We'll start tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay!"
"Good." He stands. "We'll have dinner first, then I'll show you around. You like grilled cheese?"
"Yeah." As he follows him out of the room, he hesitantly asks, "Can…can I call you Dad? Please?"
The man turns his attention to him, and he seems a little confused, but all he says is, "Sure, Cameron. You can call me Dad."
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"Cameron, this is Crystal."
The woman before him is young, with blue hair and blue skin. She's the one Dad always talks about, the one who'll train him really good with his powers.
"Hey, kid." She gets to his height and inspects him. "How old are you?"
"Eight," he replies shyly.
"Eight," she repeats, looking at his dad. "Really, Joar? You want to get him involved now?"
"The sooner he gets a hold of his powers, the better. Besides, he likes learning how to use them."
"Whatever," she mumbles. Focusing on him, she says, "C'mon, kid, let's go."
He turns to his dad, uncertain. "I'll be right here when you get back," he assures him. "Crystal just thinks it'll be better if I'm not there. You'll be fine."
Nodding, he trails behind, down a path to a clearing in the woods. There, she stops and kneels again. "Alright, Cam, show me what you can do."
Cam. No one's ever called him that, but he likes it. Taking a deep breath, he forces the ice to cover his hands and shoots flurries into the air. They drift down, twinkling in the sun. Focusing, the flurries are icicles instead—small but sharp, like his dad told him, he remembers—thrown at the surrounding trees.
"Not bad," Crystal tells him. "You have a lot of potential there, Cam. Now, have you ever manipulated the ice into shapes?"
When he just stares at her, she allows ice to cover her right hand. After a moment, it's a ball with spikes all over. "Like this. Can you try this for me?"
He tries, and it kind of works, but it's not as good as hers. He keeps at it until she puts her hand on his. "That's enough, kid."
"I'm sorry," he mumbles—he failed, failing is bad, he can't fail—staring at the ground.
"Don't get upset. You're new at this. Besides, it's not like you've had anyone to teach you."
"Dad teaches me."
She rolls her eyes. "He doesn't have powers. He just uses that fancy toy of his. But you and me? We're the real deal. Never forget that, okay? You're a natural-born cryokinetic."
It's a big word and he doesn't know what it means, but he nods anyway.
"Alright, I want you to really concentrate for me. Think, really hard, about the ice and nothing but the ice. It's covering you, part of you. Can you do that?"
He closes his eyes and does as she asks, thinking about the cold, how cold ice is, how cold he wants to feel.
"My God."
Opening his eyes, he looks down. Not only are his hands covered in ice, but both of his arms!
"I did good?"
"Kid, you did great." She touches his face, his stomach, his legs. "You're completely covered in ice."
"Really?"
She smiles. "Sure are. Now, can you undo this?"
He does—it's easy, just be warm, think warm and the ice just melts away—and smiles, too.
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He's running, away from Dad, away from his friends. They'd called him a mistake—Brick did, not in a mean way, like it was a joke, but it hurts so bad—right when he was coming back from another training session with Crystal. He knows he wasn't supposed to hear it but he did and he can't face them.
"Cameron!"
Dad. Stumbling a little, he stops running, swallowing a lot so he won't cry.
"Don't ever do that again!" his dad barks when he reaches him. Grabbing his arm—not hard, not this time, just enough—he says, "It's dangerous out here. You can't just run off."
"He said I was a mistake."
"I know." He's talking soft now. "But he didn't mean it like that. I promise. You're not a mistake."
"I wasn't planned—you even said that."
"It's not the same thing, Cameron. A mistake is something you'd change if you could. You were just…"
"A surprise?"
"Yeah. That's it." Sighing, he murmurs, "I'll make you a deal—you know how they call me Icicle? What if we call you Icicle Junior? So they all know you're my kid."
"So they know you want me?"
"Exactly."
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"Happy birthday, Cameron."
The ten-year-old can barely believe it as he stares at the cupcake in front of him. "You remembered?"
His dad snorts. "'Course I remembered. I would've remembered last year, too, if you'd bothered telling me ahead of time. Don't get all mushy on me, kid—eat it already."
In one swift movement, half the cupcake is in his mouth. It's the best he's ever had—double chocolate with fudge in the middle and it's for him, his birthday—and he's inhaling the rest when his dad says, "Geez, slow down before you choke to death! Seriously, you'd think I never fed you."
Chewing his food carefully, he swallows and grins. "Thanks so much, Dad! This is the greatest birthday ever!"
His dad just stares at him, and he almost looks sad, kind of, but it disappears real quick when he asks, "You think that's all you're getting?"
"There's more?!"
"Pick any movie you want, kid. We'll watch it together."
Sprinting into the living room, he examines the DVDs. There aren't many, and there aren't any kid ones, so he picks The Godfather because he knows his dad likes it. They start on opposite ends of the couch, but as the movie continues—he doesn't understand anything that's going on but that's okay because he's with his dad and that's all that matters—he slides closer and closer until he's right next to him. Before he knows it, he's leaning against him, trying to keep his eyes open.
"Happy birthday, Cameron," his dad repeats quietly, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.
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His dad nudges him forward, and Sportsmaster does the same with his daughter. At first, the two just look at each other, waiting. Finally, he says, "I'm Cameron."
"I'm Artemis."
"Artemis?" he repeats.
Her eyes narrow, and she'd be pretty scary if she didn't seem so small compared to her bow. "Yeah. Why?"
"Nothing," he replies quickly. "I've just never heard it before."
"You think it's weird."
"No! I think it's one of the nicest names I've ever heard." It's true, too. "And anyone who thinks it's weird is stupid."
She smiles a little—she's so pretty, so, so pretty—and says, "Thanks, Cam."
Cam. He likes it even more when she says it.
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"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Grinning, he turns to the girl. "Trust me—we'll be back before they are."
She doesn't seem convinced, but she still follows him. With ease, they find the movie theater and sneak past the bored ticket salesmen and the teenager who's suppose to check them. They settle on a cartoon, sitting in the very back—those are the best seats, she and Jade used to go to movies, before, before what he doesn't know but it makes her sad so he doesn't ask—and laughing louder than anyone else. As soon as it's over, they run out, hurrying to the hideout.
"Where are they?!"
It's his dad. Both stop and look at each other—they're dead, there's no way to explain this—when Artemis suddenly whispers, "The windows, in the back. We'll sneak in."
He follows her this time, boosting her up and creating small ice holds for him to climb. Once inside, Artemis hugs the side of the building, coming up behind her dad and screaming, "Here!"
He whirls around, as does Joar. Cameron takes that opportunity to jump forward from the shadows.
"We were being stealthy," Artemis explains. "Were we good?"
At first, it seems like neither adult believes the story, but then Sportsmaster bursts out laughing. "Very good, Baby Girl. See, Joar, I told you everything was fine."
His dad doesn't seem convinced, but all he says is, "Nice going, Cameron."
On their way out the door, they share a smile and a wink.
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They're waiting in the woods; even though they're old enough for fieldwork, this one is "too dangerous," leaving them to wait.
"Cam?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we'll ever get out?"
"Out?"
"Of this. Of having to do this stuff." She spins an arrow in the dirt. "Of doing whatever they tell us."
Shrugging, he replies, "Of course. We promised each other, remember?"
"There aren't always happy endings. Jade used to say that."
Her voice is quivering—she's sad, he hates it when she's sad, she should never be sad—so he sits up and insists, "It'll get better."
When she doesn't say anything, he looks around and spots a buttercup, alone among the underbrush. Reaching for it, he ties it into a ring and shows it to her. "Marry me."
After staring at him for a moment, she laughs—he loves that sound, it's so nice and pretty, just like her—and puts out her hand. As he slips it on, she murmurs, "You know, Frostbite, maybe happily ever after is possible." Throwing her arms around him, she whispers, "Thank you, Cam."
He just hugs her close and silently swears to love her forever.
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"Good," Sportsmaster says as they stop fighting, both breathing heavily. "Very good."
His dad doesn't speak, but he nods in agreement, and that's enough for him. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he asks, "Can we stop training and walk around? Please? It's Christmas Eve."
The adults exchange glances. Crossing his arms over his chest, Sportsmaster demands, "Alone?"
Even though he's fourteen now, the guy still scares him half to death. Nodding, he adds, "I know my way around, Mr. Sportsmaster, sir. I won't let anything happen to her."
"She doesn't need you protecting her."
"Oh, I know she doesn't," he quickly amends. "I just meant that we won't get lost or anything."
Turning to his daughter, he inquires, "Do you want to do this?"
"Yes!" she blurts out. Controlling herself, she continues, "I mean, yes please, Dad."
He addresses his dad: "You okay with this?"
Shrugging, the older man says, "I don't care. If it's okay with you."
Facing the kids, he grudgingly agrees, "Go ahead. But be back by ten. And if anything happens to her, you die, okay, kid?"
Nodding furiously, he grabs Artemis's arm and is about to bolt when his dad places a hand on his shoulder. "Cover up," he murmurs, taking off his heavy winter coat and handing it to him. He doesn't need it—he's great in the cold, it doesn't affect him at all—but with his skin, he has to be careful in public.
Pulling it on, practically drowning in the fabric, he reaches for her again and they're off, flying down the street. Even though they're in California, it's snowing—a miracle, a Christmas miracle, screw the scientific explanation for it—and it's amazing.
"Where to?" Artemis asks.
"Ice skating?"
"We have no money."
"We'll sneak in, then."
It's so easy: when they get there, Artemis drops to the ground and starts crying, crocodile tears rolling down her face. When the guy selling skates hurries to help her, Cam climbs into the booth and grabs two pairs. He's out long before the guy returns to his post.
"Nice performance," he whispers.
Flipping up her hood, she grin., "Thanks."
They skate for an hour, having the rink almost to themselves, before leaving, Cam handing the skates over to the slightly-confused person behind the counter. They're out before he can ask questions.
Next is the light show, which is, thankfully, free. As they go through the path, staring at blinking candy canes and dancing snowmen, Artemis entwines her hand with his, and this is, without a doubt, the best night ever.
"Should we head back?" Artemis asks, shivering a little.
"Let's just walk some more," he insists, wrapping her up in the jacket—it's big enough for the two of them, she shouldn't have to freeze—and leading her down the sidewalk. After a while, they pass an ice cream shop, the lady in charge waving at those milling around, offering candy canes.
Taking one each, they say, "Thank you," and are about to keep going when she proposes, "Come inside and get something."
It's tempting, but they're broke. "We have no money."
"It's free." She smiles. "A treat for young love."
Not ones to turn down free food, they obey, sitting at an empty table while she gets the ice cream ready. Soon, a giant bowl of peppermint ice cream, topped with whipped cream, candy canes, hot fudge, and a cherry, is before them. They thank her again before digging in.
"That was great." Artemis leans back in her seat. "Best thing ever."
"Totally." Noticing a pencil on the table, used to fill out a How was your experience? survey, he scribbles on a napkin, Thank you so much for the ice cream. We really appreciate you doing this for us, and we'll never forget it. We hope you have an awesome Christmas and a great New Year. Sincerely, Cameron. He passes the napkin and pencil to Artemis, who reads it over quickly before signing her name. Tucking it under the bowl, they leave, waving and thanking the woman one more time.
"This was great," she murmurs, snuggling next to him in the jacket.
"Yeah, it was." He wraps his arm around her. He'll never, ever forget this as long as he lives.
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Whenever he feels bad, whenever he can't get his mind off the fear and the worry and the what might happen, he just remembers the good times. They're a part of him, too, a reminder that there's always good, even when it doesn't feel that way.
