Her voice a squeak. "Oww, hey, that's my arm, Warren!"
"I know." Dry, monotone.
"I kinda need that arm." Pleading.
"You have another one." Unmoved.
"Hey! I like having two!" A pause and a huffed breath. "I wasn't actually going to hit her."
Smirk. "Is that right?"
"Well . . ." Was that guilt?
He laughed and let go of her elbow, and she pretended to make sure it was still attached. While his shock wasn't because he had born witness to the extraordinary temper he knew she possessed, it was still a surprise due to it having explode in his defense. Kind of. Taylor had come and gone from his life with the alacrity of a melting popsicle on a hot summer day (as apt an analogy as anything), and he didn't hold much of a grudge. Sure, he'd hated that she'd essentially garnered his affections to boost her own popularity in the post-Gwen Grayson political vacuum amidst the student body, but he was past it. If anything, Taylor Frost's rep had taken a hit, for trying to be a manipulative strumpet (Magenta had fired that term off, and it had tickled Warren into keeping it when he thought of his ex-girlfriend). He had become something of a quasi-hero in the school since homecoming, fighting side-by-side with the boy who many had figured would be the pyro's arch-nemesis in the years to come. It had been Will himself who had won him over, proving that not everyone could be intimidated into submission, that sometimes the past didn't matter at all. It felt, nice, to be accepted. As offended as he'd been when Layla and the others had practically annexed his solitary lunch table that fateful day – and continued to do so to the present – he'd been relieved to see people unimpressed and unshaken by the shadow of his father's deeds. He'd been accepted for the person he was, not the villain his father had been. With Will and his circle of friends breaking down the self-erected walls in Warren's life, he'd discovered it was easier to open up to others, if they were sincere.
And Amy seemed sincere. Very much so, in fact; one did not get into verbal warfare at Maxville's busiest and most popular adolescent hang out when one was outnumbered three-to-one unless one was sincere. It had been a date of sorts, her treat to a movie after working on him for several weeks, proving she was nothing like the girl who shared Amy's sway over ice. She'd stepped into the cozy circle of friends after having been paired with Layla in a round of "Save the Citizen," during which they'd lost to Will and Warren himself, but not without a fight. He'd been impressed then, at least a little, but Layla's ready acceptance of the older girl was what really solidified it. Sweet Layla, who had the best intentions at heart, was also a mastermind of matchmaking. He couldn't count the number of times she'd shoved him and Amy together when the group of friends went out. Or studied. Or ate lunch together. It was all somewhat heavy-handed, but as it wasn't hurting anyone, he didn't mind. He'd come to appreciate Amy's sense of humor, the way she didn't ask delicate questions. She talked about other things, if they talked at all; most of the time, one of the other young heroes-to-be would be dominating the conversation with their point of view. However, Amy had never been afraid to put her two cents in, even having a heated debate with Zach over who was the better superhero – Superman or the Batman. Amy didn't criticize things Warren did and said (one of the others usually beat her to the punch, he theorized), and she was more than happy to just sit there and enjoy the silence.
Tonight had really been the first time the two of them had done something without having five extra shadows. She'd insisted he come with her to see "Dawn of the Forbidden Dead," because she didn't like horror movies by herself. Gave her the willies, she'd said with a sheepish grin. Warren was just glad she hadn't suggested anything sappy, or cute, or starring Ashton Kutcher.
"Hey."
Her voice broke through his musings. "Hmm?"
"I think it's going to rain."
He glanced up at the dark sky, noting the clouds thickening overhead. He brushed the hair away from his face and nodded his agreement, before dropping a glance her way. "You won't melt, will you?"
"No." She laughed lightly. "That's why man invented hoodies."
"Only if you're sure." An amused rumble of a voice.
She fired a look at him that made a smile curl his lip. She'd never admit it, not out loud, but his smile set off a thousand butterflies in her stomach. It always had, since the first day of school at Power Placement. Though after that first year of Hero Tract classes together, she hadn't seen much of him since he'd been held back, she remembered how he'd smiled (he probably hadn't even realized anyone had been watching). Not that they ever talked back in freshman year, or that he'd ever noticed her, but she sure did notice him. He was hard to miss, with his trademark dark hair and jacket, not to mention the general feeling of "back off, world" he gave off with every bit of will. Amy could understand why he put up all those walls of brooding glares and stiff defiance; she would, too, if everyone else had prejudged her and made her into some hard-ass. She thought he'd likely had to deal with the stigma of being Barron Battle's son since the day his father had been put away by the Commander, and that was a lot to force on a young person's shoulders. She'd always pitied him, in a way, watching him sit by himself in the cafeteria, hearing the other students whisper far-fetched rumors of impeding villainy regarding him. It had taken someone with the compassion of Will Stronghold and his friends to break down those dark barriers of the soul. Since that evening a few months ago, Amy had seen more of that heart-stopping smile, and she didn't mind.
Amy herself was a study in contrasts – her mother was Cold Snap, a heroine who had passed her ice-wielding powers to a reluctant daughter who'd only wanted to be an average girl. While the others in her grade seemed genuinely appreciative and happy with their powers, Amy sometimes cursed hers. It was fun to make ice and shape it, certainly, but she never expected it to become the thing to influence her post-graduation vocation. Before her cryokinesis had manifested, she'd had dreams of being a singer – busted by a stage fright so fierce it made her sick; of being a music producer – busted by a lack of the snake oil in her blood producers needed. A thousand mundane professions had run through her mind, most of them surrounding music, though she'd thought of being a comic book writer after reading a copy of 'Archie' at the grocery store once. Fate had a funny way of working, and it had been after her thirteenth birthday that Amy had inherited her mother's legacy. While Gina Winters and her architect husband Thomas had been thrilled, Amy had almost panicked. Her dreams had been replaced with one loaned to her from her mother, her free will of choice to pick something boring superceded. It didn't seem fair, not at all. Her older brother Richard had been spared, going to college for a degree in chemistry, so the mantle of herohood had fallen squarely on Amy's slim shoulders.
She had tried to embrace it, to at least make her mother happy, but the stress was getting to her. Another year or more, and Amy would be a graduate and the real world opened to her. She'd vehemently stated that she'd run off and open a fish store, a grocer, anything to avoid stepping into the spandex of Cold Snap. But her mother wouldn't have it, her father wouldn't allow it, and Richard had agreed with them (the traitor). It had been a bitter pill to swallow, but she surmised she had to make the best of it. What had spurred her enthusiasm, though, was nothing said by her family, or done by a famous hero. Taylor Frost's triumph of snagging Warren Peace awoke the green-eyed monster in Amy. The girls had been rivals of a sort before that time, but now it seemed to flare up like a supernova. Amy had watched the short-lived relationship with a cold eye, always figuring nothing good could come from Taylor's interest in Warren, and being perversely happy when it turned out she was right. She'd mentally applauded when Will Stronghold had put the other girl in her place, after Layla and Magenta had overheard Taylor talking in the girls' bathroom about Warren. Amy liked them, since they'd hit the spotlight after homecoming. They were generally good people, and stuck up for what they believed in. She could respect that about anyone, but especially in younger kids. Here were several people, in her age bracket, who'd been unafraid to take on the responsibility of being heroes when the time came. Hell, they were real heroes now in their minority, having thwarted Royal Pain and her cohorts in their planned take-over of Sky High and the deaging of full-fledged heroes into babies. Will, Layla, Zach, Ethan, Magenta, and – of all the things – Warren had busted the whole lot. "Heroes of the Year." She agreed; it had taken real strength to face down all those yutzes, even for a bunch of kids labeled as "sidekicks." That fact was mainly why Amy had stepped forward that day in P.E. to help Layla out as a villain in "Save the Citizen."
She smiled now, thinking of that day. How nervous she'd been, squaring off against Stronghold and Peace, the reigning champs of the game. Layla's reassuring smile and half-hearted threats to her boyfriend. Most poignant had been Warren's expression, a blend of apathy and strange determination. He might not seem to really care about the sport, but he'd give it his all, and expected everyone else to as well. She'd been too apprehensive to think clearly, and had gotten short-sighted and cocky. After she'd frozen Stronghold in place, she'd forgotten about him, only to have him come back while she and Warren were squaring off to immobilize her. The match had finished quickly after, a chagrined Layla laughing with Will; even Warren had smiled a little. After she'd cleaned up, she'd left the locker room to find the redhead and her purple-tressed cohort waiting for her with an invitation to sit with them at lunch. Of course, Amy had accepted, not realizing exactly what she was getting into until she'd sat between Ethan and Zach – and across from Warren. That first time had seen a great deal of Amy staring at her Jell-O, and her best friend Maggie's incessant queries of where she'd been at lunch had spilled the beans.
A fat drop of rain collided with Amy's face, eliciting a startled squawk and a flail that would have made Captain Jack Sparrow proud. Beside her, Warren chuckled in a low tone, even as more droplets fell.
"Guess you were right." His grin was all handsome face and perfect teeth, and Amy felt her stomach drop to her knees, while simultaneously her heart rose to choke her.
"Mmmph." It had been the only thing capable of getting past her strangled voice.
"C'mere." He touched her arm and they stopped. With a sure motion, he tugged the hood of her sweatshirt up securely over her tousled blonde locks. His thumb brushed against her cheek, and she swore it was deliberate.
In a soft voice. "Thank you." Her organs returned to their normal positions, and concern marred her face as she looked up at him. "What about you?"
Shrug. "I doubt it'll do me any harm."
Thunder cracked ominously overhead, and the sky seemed to open up, just to be contrary to Warren's words. Both of them looked up as a proper deluge came down. Amy couldn't help but give Warren a 'look what you did!' expression; he had the grace to look sheepish. Laughing, she grabbed his hand and lead the way as they scurried to find cover under the awning of a fashion boutique. They were still soaked through a bit, and Amy was regretting trying to look cute by wearing a skirt – bare, wet legs felt weird unless one was in a bath or pool. She didn't immediately release his hand, and only did when she noticed his glance downwards to their twined fingers. Hers was a hasty retreat, as if she'd been burned, and she covered her reaction with another laugh.
"Look at us; we're like escapees from the Titanic or something." Falsely flippant.
Warren turned to catch his reflection in the glass of the store. "Drowned rats, is more like it." A strong hand lifted to rake his dark hair back from his face, then wiped residual water from it. Moving back towards her, he caught the expression on her face, how her eyes were riveted to him, the slight pink cast to her cheeks. He in turn examined her face, how the navy blue fabric of the hooded sweatshirt emblazoned with Sky High's letters made her eyes stand out more, made them seem bluer. Several strands of hair had escaped the protection of the hood and were soaked, curled. The look she wore tugged on something low in his gut. It went beyond simple acceptance; it was out-and-out affection, genuine and unabashed.
As if she'd caught herself, Amy looked away, even turning to look out into the rain hammering down around them. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, and he couldn't help but feel something protective wash over him. Here was this girl, a bit short with a bit more hip to her than she liked (How many times had she commented on it? He hadn't seen anything wrong with them; on the contrary, he rather liked her waist-to-hip ratio), brave enough to stand up to the taunts of some of the most vicious girls from school since Penny, but braver still to wordlessly admit her feelings. His brow furrowed as he considered her; what would it hurt? She wasn't anything like Taylor except in sharing the manipulation of ice, and he knew she wasn't going to parade him around like some humanoid trophy.
"Thanks for protecting my virtue." His low voice was tinged with amusement, backed up with authentic gratitude.
She turned and smiled up at him. "You guys can't always be the rescuers."
"So I've seen. I feel less manly now." Again, that dry monotone.
"Please!" She laughed and reached back to swat playfully at his arm. "That is such bull."
He laughed and shrugged, brushing a rogue strand of hair behind his ear. He looked out to the rain, still carrying on with the same dynamic force that had sent the teens into hiding under this bright magenta-striped awning. "Think it's going to keep up?"
"I hope not." She wrinkled her nose. "But I guess we'd have to make a break for it. I don't think I wanna stand under here all night."
"Why not?"
An embarrassed flush suffused her cheeks again, and Warren couldn't keep the grin off his face. "Because . . . it's pink? I'm not saying that the company is objectionable, because it's not, it's just that, awning, and standing around, and –"
"You babble well."
A low mutter. "Lots of practice." Arms re-crossed, she rubbed her hands against the fabric, shivering a little as she shot a glare at the oppressive precipitation.
"Cold?" One eyebrow lifted in query.
"Yeah. Ironic, isn't it?" Another laugh, a bit self-deprecating. "I sling ice around for a living, and I get cold."
"Everyone gets cold, it's a human thing." He reached out to take her shoulder and tugged her back. Caught unawares, Amy found herself surrounded by leather-clad arms, her back pressed against what could only be a nice chest. While she was, in fact, very startled, she could hear a tiny voice in her head shriek an exultant 'yes!'
Warren felt her body go tense for several seconds, but she relaxed and leaned against him with what sounded like a content sigh. He shifted, his longer arms covering hers, his hands lightly resting on her slightly chilled ones. His leather jacket shielded him from her damp sweatshirt, but that wasn't high on the list of priority thoughts in his mind. He was mainly focused on how right it seemed for him to be holding Amy, like something had just fallen into place. He would have likely never had done this if they'd been with the other guys, but alone he didn't feel the need to be a rock of controlled solitude.
Amy closed her eyes, a giddy feeling keeping her silent, for fear of yet again babbling like a drunken monkey. She always got so tongue-tied around Warren, and it irritated her. Here she was, though, in his arms in the middle of a rainstorm bent on drowning the world. It was something from a movie or one of those insipid romance novels Amy's mother read; but it was real, and it was happening to her. She definitely didn't feel cold anymore, that was certain.
"Doing okay?" She could feel his voice rumble in his chest, and it was a pleasant feeling.
"Mhm." It was a cop-out reply, as she couldn't trust her tongue not to tie up a bunch of words.
He smiled over her head, and indulged himself to drop his chin to rest on her shoulder. He felt very much at peace with the world at the moment. "We'll get you squared away, then forge out in this mess to get you home, okay?"
She nodded. "Okay." Not that I wouldn't mind staying this way for a while.
"Just let me know." He murmured.
The rain seemed to lessen around them, the thunder fading away to mere flashes of lightning too far away to be heard over the steady patter of falling water. It was likely past curfew at this point; who knows how long they had walked, had stayed sheltered under the gaudy awning? Neither cared about that; instead centered on the fact that they were alone, though not really. The world was focused on the now, on the simple comfort of being held by another human being. Everything else in the world seemed so trivial.