AN: So, for those who read and somewhat enjoyed "Layla" I am planning a Layla/Warren piece. I tried starting it last night but it just wasn't working, so once this one's done I'll start looking at starting the next. I'm not so good at juggling multiple stories, it would seem. Until then, enjoy!

East Bridge

The world always seemed uglier after school, Margaret thought. Compared to the pristine cleanliness of the floating school, the world below seemed dirtier, grittier. Or maybe that was just East Bridge.

The bus rumbled a bit at it crossed onto the Pawnee River Bridge, the sound of rubber on decades-old iron quickly replacing that of tires over asphalt. The Pawnee River split Maxville in two. The major businesses were on West Bridge, and the rest of the city lived on East Bridge, commuting over the slightly oxidized bridge Monday through Friday, nine to five. Margaret's own house was further inland, heading more towards the hills that marked the city limits. Nothing but fresh open land and grass and cows.

The banks of East Bridge, however, were full of warehouses, dark alleys and seedy clubs that spewed sax-heavy jazz music until sunrise. The banks were a breeding ground for Maxville villains, with underground casinos and ill-lit bars lining the always dark streets. It was also where the Paper Lantern could be found.

The copy of Titus was resting carefully on the seat next to her. She'd found a faded address on the inside cover with the instructions, "If lost, please return to-" and the initials B.B signed at the bottom. Once she'd discovered the book had once been the Baron's, she handled it with kid gloves, not wanting to be the poor soul that destroyed one of Warren's father's belongings. She wasn't that stupid.

The smell of charcoal and burning meat hit her as soon as the bus crossed onto the banks. The sun was just setting and the dimly burning street lamps of East Bridge were starting to glow. The bus pulled to a stop and a few careworn people staggered off, their dirty clothes pulled close about their thin bodies. Margaret stood too, gathering the book and holding it close against her body as she exited, not looking at anyone as she did. The bus doors shut behind her with a squeak and the bus pulled away, a thick cloud of exhaust trailing behind it.

Margaret looked around. There didn't seem to be any street signs- after all the banks were for the directionless- and Margaret was starting to get scared. There was a warm yellow light glowing towards the edge of the banks and she could almost make out small red lanterns decorating the front. She sighed with relief. After all, how many Chinese restaurants could there be in the banks?

A cool breeze was blowing off the river and Margaret could make out the scent ofsalt water. She could remember going fishing with her dad when she was younger and her mother would be out on a call. She was never very good at it and always got the line hopelessly tangled whichwould meanit was time to pack up the tackle box andgo to the Catfish Place near the West Bridge docks to pick up some fried fish and hushpuppies.

As she neared the Lantern she could smell the food. Her father would sometimes pick up Chinese on his way home from work and Margaret wondered if he got it from here. The smells were the same, but she wondered if all egg rolls had a standard scent. The restaurant was lit up like a beacon at the edge of the banks, drawing the hungry to it like a savory haven, the gateway between the banks and the civilized world. Margaret's stomach growled a bit and she reminded herself that this was just a delivery job, drop off the book and leave.

She reached the doors and pulled. The warmth and smell of the place almost knocked her over as it invited her in. Small paper lanterns were draped across the walls shedding multicolored glows about the room. The place was all but full, couples and parties pleasantly eating while a tall, older man with crazy sprigs of gray hair bustled about in his black and whites, four plates gracefully balanced on his arm.

"Table for one?"

"Oh, no I'm not eating, I just dropped by to return this-"

"Oh my heavens!" The small hostess cried, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. "You're Janice's daughter, aren't you? Janice Boomowski?"

Margaret was stunned. "Um, yea. Yes, yes I am. Do you know her?"

"Oh yes, we went to the high together- you there too?" She asked cautiously.

"Yes, yes I am."

"Oh, good." She clapped her hands together. "Here, sit down, let me get you something to eat-" she took Margaret by her arm and led her to a clean booth near a blinded window and sat her down. "I'll be back with some soup. You like wonton?" Margaret nodded and the woman smiled again and scurried off to through a pair of swinging, black doors in the back.

Margaret looked about the table for lack of anything else to do. The place mat was standard with signs of the Chinese zodiac dancing about the edges with an explanation of each clustered in the middle. According to her sign she was a dragon, which never made sense to her. If anything she should be a rabbit, or a rat, or a dust mite if that was available.

The small woman soon reappeared, a steaming bowl in her hands. She placed it before Margaret and then slid onto the seat across from her. Margaret nodded her thanks and quickly started spooning the broth in, carefully blowing on it first.

"You look just like her." The hostess mused from across the table. Margaret smiled. She didn't really know what else to do. Her mother was a subject that made her a bit uncomfortable. As Siren, Janice Allen was the sexiest super hero ever to roam the streets of Maxville. She was all vamp and pin-up made flesh with a voice to die for- and several of her foes had. It was never said by either of her parents that she had to fill her mother's stilettos, but the unspoken pressure was on for Margaret to grow up and fill out and start knockin' 'em dead. Margaret spooned a dumpling in her mouth and chewed on it quietly.

"She used to be so quiet in school, never said a word." The older woman continued not really looking Margaret, or at anything in particular. "She used to sit by the windows and read during lunch, never spoke to anyone. And she was so good at physics!We allfigured she was a mad genius waiting to happen. Then senior year she showed up and- well, lets just say that when late bloomers get to blooming they don't waste any time!" She laughed and wiped something Margaret couldn't see off the table with her towel.

'I just came by to drop this off-" Margaret put her spoon down and picked up the copy of Titus Andronicus that was laying next to her. The time for reminiscing was done.

"Oh, that'll be Warren's." The woman replied, taking if from Margaret with a slightly wrinkled hand.

"Does he work here?" Margaret had suspected that he lived in one of the apartments above the restaurant, or that his father's old gang reconnoitered in the back room amongst the deliveries of squid and onion.

"Yes. He's out making deliveries right now. He'll be back any minute if you'd like to wait-"

"No, I really should be getting home. Thank you for the soup." She stood up, stealthily slipping a five and two one's under the soup bowl. The woman got up as well and bowed. Margaret gave her a small smile and a nod and left.

The night had quickly set in while Margaret was in the restaurant. The cool breeze from the river was now a cold wind. Margaret shivered and shoved her hands deep in her pockets. The buses stopped running in the banks after sunset- too many attacks- and she doubted she had enough cash on her for a cab. The streets were almost all uphill out of the banks and Margaret was the only person around, her labored breath creating small puffs that disappeared just as quickly.

She wondered if Titus was Warren's favorite book. It made sense, a slighted war hero who seeks bloody and senseless revenge- that had Warren's name all over it. A tin can rattled in a nearby alley and Margaret turned her head sharply to search for the source but saw nothing in the darkness that surrounded her. The main street was dimly lit by sputtering street lights and Margaret found herself quickly scurrying from one thin patch of light to the next, nervousness starting to set in.

She heard footsteps behind her and quickened her pace a bit. Part of her hated that she distrusted the world so much, assuming that anyone walking about after dark was a serial rapist or murderer looking for a fix. Perhaps it was another kid trying to get home, like herself. But the sensible part of her that was taking control of her legs didn't let her turn around to see.

"Hero?"

Margaret squeezed her eyes shut. She knew that voice. She slowly turned around and smiled shyly at him. His hair was pulled back out of his face, a few whisps laying against his cheek.

"What are you doing out here alone? You want to get attacked?" He scolded her quietly like her father had when she was younger.

"I was on my way home."

"You're a long way from home, Hero."

"I just dropped off your book, thought you'd want it back." She pointed over his shoulder back towards the Paper Lantern.Warren's face softened a bit and he thought for a minute.

"You hungry?" He managed finally, looking tired and a few years older in the moonlight.

"I had some soup."

Warren smiled and shook his head. Margaret suddenly didn't know quite where she was.

"I see you met Mom."

That was Warren Peace's mother? The woman who had helped the Commander to put Barron Battle away? The woman who had married Battle in the first place?

"Come on. I have a delivery up in the hills, then I'll take you home, okay?" Margaret nodded, not knowing what else to do. She was a fan of the known and constant universe and everything in it's proper place. For the past twelve hours her world had been nothing but tumbled, up-heaved and now Warren was takingher home. She kept her eyes desperately on Warren's back, his form the only thing that made sense to her at that point.