Title: Scribbles on Napkins
Author: kenzimone
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: "Everything's either black or white with you, Stronghold." (AU)
Note: Pretty much Alternative Universe straight through. A 'What If?' fic, if you will. For the LJ community fanfic100's 20th prompt: 'Colorless'.
He had met her outside of her house, and she'd placed her hand in his (her father had been watching from one of the downstairs windows, but Will hadn't cared). They'd held hands all the way to the Paper Lantern, Will happily letting her swing them back and forth in a slow and lazy arc until they'd reached the restaurant and he had hurried to open the door for her. She'd let go of his hand then, to cover the smile on her face, and he hadn't been able to help it – he'd smiled back.
His father had prepped him before he'd let his son leave the house – open the door for her, take her coat, pull out her chair – and at the time Will had rolled his eyes and said that he had to get going, though now he was grateful for the run-through as he performed all the tasks in a fluid and rehearsed manner. And it made her smile again, so it was well worth it.
The waiter had shown them to a table for two in one of the corners, and given them each a menu before lighting the candles and walking away; Will was nervous and couldn't keep his hands from shaking, so he folded them in his lap and quickly skimmed the first page of the menu (he'd go with the first meal listed, he doubted he'd be able to eat so why would it matter?).
She, on the other hand, took her time, flipping through the menu and pursing her lips at certain suggestions, all the while looking so beautiful that he almost had to bite his tongue to not say it out loud.
"I, um…"
She looked up, the light from the candles dancing in her eyes and splashing red and dark brown onto her hair. "Hmm?"
Will swallowed; "I've got to go to…" He gestured in the general direction of the restrooms, and she smiled.
"Okay."
"Okay," Will echoed, standing and carefully making sure he wouldn't get caught in the table cloth and drag it off the table as he walked away (his father always said TV gave kids the strangest ideas, and maybe he was right after all).
He only looked back once, halfway across the restaurant, but she had turned back to the menu again and he felt kind of silly to assume that she would be watching him as he would have her, if she was the one walking away.
...
"You really hate him, don't you?" she said, closing the menu and placing it on the table in front of her.
A snort, and Warren Peace emerged out of the shadows behind her. "And what makes you say that?"
"Well," she answered, placing her elbows on the table and resting her chin on her folded hands, "you've only been avoiding our table for a good ten minutes. Or maybe I'm mistaken."
Warren grinned, a lazy show of teeth as he let the pitcher he was carrying switch hands and filled her empty glass with a practiced motion. "So now you figure you can read minds?"
Gwen Grayson leaned forward, an intense look in her eyes as she crossed her arms. "No, nothing as fancy as that, I'm afraid," she drawled and watched with dancing eyes as the pyrokinetic's gaze traveled down the length of her throat to the generous amount of cleavage she displayed before snapping back up to her face, a scowl marring his features.
"What do you want?"
"Butterfly prawns in bread crumbs?" she purred, tilting her head to one side.
"I'm not a waiter."
"Please, I'm well aware of that." She seemed almost offended, turning to pick her purse up off the floor and deftly fish a pen out of one of the inner pockets. "Why don't you," she murmured, scribbling a series of numbers onto the cloth napkin she had pulled from under her fork and knife, "give me a call sometime?"
And she held out the napkin for him to take, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Warren clenched his jaw and glared, and she gazed right back, a steady look by eyes far older than suited for her face. He finally grunted and snatched the napkin out of her hand, stuffing it down one of the pockets of his apron.
She beamed at him; "Great."
And he realized that there had been no hint of flirting in her voice, and somehow knew that this was nothing but pure business.
...
(Two months later)
He had forgotten the most important rule of them all; don't ever let anything distract you. But it wasn't as if he could help it, not when Layla's steps echoed through the hall and her voice rang out loud and clear over the smattering of pieces of mirrors still hitting the floor from the ruined disco ball overhead.
"Will!"
He looked up, and before he knew it his jaw was aching and he was flying through a glass window, small pinpricks of pain stabbing at his back and arms. The pain was kind of less important than the fact that he was free falling to his death, though, and that Layla was screaming somewhere far away.
The yelp of his own he let out was high pitched and made him cringe, even with air striking him at every angle as he broke through it at gravity's command; only, one second he was descending towards the earth, and the other he was floating in place, and he couldn't quite figure out how it had happened, other than that he really hadn't wanted to be squished to a figureless blob upon impact and that somehow, will apparently did win out over matter.
So when he had found his way back to the school and the window which he had exited through, he couldn't help but say it;
"Surprised? So am I."
"You're flying!" Gwen's voice was distorted and warped by the mask she wore, but somewhere in the back of his head he still hear her real one, light and fluent, instead of the gravely accent that now shook with surprise. "That's impossible!"
And before he knew it, he had rammed his shoulder against her chest and thrown her to the ground, and his fist had been pulled back and released and the mask dropped away. And she was, once again, just Gwen Grayson, the girl with the brown hair and hazel eyes that had laughed with him over butterfly prawns and noodles.
Only, her eyes were closed and her face blank, and he snapped his head back, searching the room. "Layla?"
A hiccup, and a cry, and he saw Warren rise to his feet and cradle a green bundle in his arms.
Will stared. "Warren?"
The pyrokinetic flicked his head backwards, sending his hair flying out of his face and falling behind his shoulders; the three red scratches stretching the length of the right side of his face stood out clearly even in the dim light flooding the gym.
Will's eyes traveled from the flame charmer's features to the sobbing baby held tightly in his arms. "Warren? What the heck is going on?"
A chair lay abandoned on its side a few feet away, and Warren walked over to it, using one foot to kick it upright and place the crying bundle on its seat. A piece of what Will had assumed was a blanket – a green, sheer material that had flowed perfectly over Layla's hips – fell to the side and gave him a nice view of the red wisps of hair covering the crown of the baby's head.
Will swallowed; "Layla?"
Warren stepped aside, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and lightly touched the scratches marring his face. He winced, pulling his hand away and taking in the thin layer of blood covering his fingertips.
"Who did that?" Will's voice had lowered to a growl. "Did Layla do that? What did you do to her?"
The pyrokinetic snorted. "Won't you shut up about that damn hippie?" He ignored Will's flinch. "I didn't do anything to her. This," gesturing towards his cheek, "is all courtesy of Rat Girl."
"Ra— Magenta?" Will straightened, hands clenched at his sides. "Where's she? Where's Zach and Ethan? What did you do?" He took a step forward, unconsciously or otherwise, and Warren held up one of his hands as a sign for Will to stop right there, while the other burst into flames.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he snarled.
Will's jaw clenched. "I thought they were your friends."
"Now where the Hell would you get such an idea?"
"You share a table at lunch. You took Layla to the freakin' homecoming dance." He could take Warren, of that he was sure. He just had to be quick, to get him distracted, to-
"Huh," Warren said, eyes trained on something behind Will, who couldn't help but turn to look over his shoulder and be greeted by the sight of Gwen slowly rising to her feet. Darn it.
He returned his focus to Warren, albeit tuning his senses to pick up any quick movement from behind. "Since when do you and Royal Pain work together?"
"I don't see why that's any of your business." Warren raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile pulling at the edge of his lips.
Will fought to keep it cool and not wring the pyrokinetic's throat right then and there. "If I'm going to be burnt to crisp then yes, I think it sure as heck is my business."
A noise behind him, and he didn't have to turn and look to know that Gwen had retrieved the Pacifier and was now walking towards him with it.
"Okay," he said. "Take it easy, Warren. Look, whatever she's told you or promised you, I can help you with that. Just… Let me stop her."
A funny look came over Warren's face, like he was either going to cry or laugh, before his features twisted into an expression of rage. "You're going to help me?" He laughed, a bark of a joyless chortle. "Will Stronghold is going to help me?"
Will shifted his weight onto his right foot, knowing that he'd said something wrong, even though he couldn't quite pinpoint exactly where he'd gone wrong. It wasn't like pissing off a pyrokinetic was his biggest problem, what, with a crazy robot chick with a gun approaching from behind.
"Will, Will, Will…" Gwen clucked, her voice fair and young again, and the hairs on Will's neck rose on end. "It's really no use. You won't be able to talk your way out of this one." She was close; he could almost feel her breath on the side of his neck. Sadly, he could also feel the cold steel barrel of the Pacifier pressed hard inbetween his shoulder blades. "And our working relationship," Gwen continued, "isn't really more than a simple 'I scratch his back, he scratches mine'."
"So what," Will asked Warren, ignoring the presence behind him because there was no way he'd be able to talk her out of shooting him anyway. "You're on her side now, and that's it?"
Warren's jaw twitched; "No."
Will blinked. "'No'? You're threatening to burn me to crisp here!"
The fire encircling the pyrokinetic's one fist was slowly creeping up his elbow towards his shoulder, but Warren didn't seem to notice. "I'm not on her side, and I'm not on yours. I'm not on anyone's side."
Will tried one final time; "Look, Warren; just help me out here, and I'll—"
Behind him, Gwen giggled. "You'll what?" she purred into his ear. "Should I tell you what the favor I'm doing on Warren's behalf involves? Would you like to know?"
The scratches on Warren's face were still bleeding, red smeared up towards his temple, and Will absently wondered if Magenta had been in her guinea pig form when she'd inflicted the damage.
"I think I'll tell you just for fun," Gwen murmured, and Will could see Warren take an angry step forward. "I'm breaking his father out of jail, that's what I'm doing. Helping good ol' Baron Battle bust out of solitary. Would you do that? If Warren helped you destroy me, would you force your way into a high security prison and tear the hinges off his father's cell door?"
Warren was shaking now, fire dripping off his frame to pool on the floor by his feet, and even at a distance Will could feel the heat hitting him face on. So focused was he on the human bonfire in front of him that he almost didn't sense Gwen withdraw from behind him. Only when the coolness of the Pacifier's barrel disappeared from his upper back did he realize she had backed away. And a sharp click told him she was aiming it at him, point blank.
"See, I don't think you would," she murmured, as if talking to herself. "And that's why I'm going to win this time."
Warren finally seemed to notice the fire engulfing him, if only for the way Will was blinking against the heat, and in a moment he had put the flames out and was standing in front of Will, totally unfazed by the for his body natural and untaxing phenomenon.
"Everything's either black or white with you, Stronghold," he said in a gruff voice. "And that's bullshit, because right now? There's no black, and no white, and no damn gray zone inbetween. This is colorless, and I'm on no one's side but my own and it's because of that, that you will pay. For what your dad did to my dad, and to my mom, and to me. You will pay for that."
"So true," Gwen purred; and looking at Warren and the redness of the blood running down his face, and the lightning yellow feeling of the pain behind his eyeballs as the Pacifier clicked and the flash of blue enveloped him, Will only got the time to think that this was anything but colorless.