Thank you to all those who have read, favorited, followed, and reviewed this story! I appreciate all your support, especially since this is a story that I wrote simply to indulge myself :)
Special thanks to RenkonNairu for your very thoughtful review! Since I thought you had a good point regarding the rating of this story, I felt I should address it below:
My test for determining whether a fic is M or T is pretty straightforward: if I wouldn't want my baby sister reading it, I'm marking it M. It's my hope that, because of that decision, everyone reading this story is prepared to read about the topics it contains. Thank you, RenkonNairu, for your thoughtful advice, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story!
Disclaimer: I still don't own Sky High, though Mira is mine.
He asks her about her medical training one night as she's patching him up yet again.
She pauses, putting her gauze back in the kit.
"I'm certified in a lot of things," she says, suddenly unsure. It's not in her nature to brag - well, not about things she's actually proud of, at least. She'll be brash enough about silly things, things that don't matter at all, things she can joke about.
"You've got all the time in the world, huh?" He smiles at her even though she knows his split lip has got to sting, and she can't help but give him a faint grin back.
"Something like that."
Sometimes, it's like they don't know each other at all. Other times, it's like he's the only real person in her entire life.
And then, sometimes, she is reminded that he has plenty of people in his life, people who love him and who have lived with him much longer than she has.
She knocks on his door one evening after getting off work, tired and pissy and starving. All she wants is to sit and bitch about her customers while watching her boyfriend make her dinner in the apron she got him for Christmas, and then drink a glass of bourbon and have at least two rounds of sex on sheets that she does not have to wash.
So when she pounds on the door, she is not expecting it to be thrown open by an indignant young woman with long braids and a flowing skirt, followed closely by a handsome young man she can only guess is the Commander's kid.
She bites back a curse, trying to remember if Warren ever told her he was having his friends over this week. He mentioned they would be visiting - she can't remember if he said when. Damn it.
"Fuck," she mutters, unable to stop herself. Her filter has been worn down by a very long day.
"Excuse me?" the girl says, eyes narrowed, "Who are you?"
"Is Warren home?" she asks, as polite as she can. It's not very polite, considering how rough her voice is from the yelling match she had with a particularly stubborn drunk who wouldn't leave her parlor not even an hour ago.
"Who's asking?" This is the guy, the boyfriend of the girl, she's guessing. Damn it. He's about as hostile right now as Warren is to strangers, and that's not said lightly.
"His motherfucking girlfriend is asking, so if he's hiding behind you please tell him that if he wants any sex in the next four weeks he'd better fucking get out here."
The girl flinches as her voice gets louder, but she only does that because she can see his shadow in the doorway of the kitchen. She can hear him chuckle, and it irritates her.
The two of them are taken aback, but Warren comes to their rescue. He whispers something to the guy, presumably 'no, she's not crazy, yes, she's my girlfriend, yeah, I'd like sex in the next four weeks, please move', and the guy puts a hand in his girlfriend's shoulder. She gives Mira a distrustful look, but moves back into the apartment so the other woman can slide in.
She glares at Warren, who has the good grace not to keep laughing, though he can't quite wipe the smile off his face.
"Come on," he cajoles, opening his arms. "You came here for a reason."
"Fuck you," she says, hostile enough that the guests exchange a look, possibly wondering if they've walked into a fight. But she doesn't hesitate to snuggle right up to her furnace of a boyfriend.
It's cold outside, okay?
"Mira, this is Will, and Layla. They also went to our high school."
"I remember," she mutters, giving up a good impression as a lost cause. "I was still there when the whole homecoming thing went down, remember? You guys were famous all year."
Will blushes a bit, and Layla raises an eyebrow.
"Guys, this is my girlfriend, Mira. I've told you about her," he says, nearly laughing again. She elbows him in the diaphragm, and he doubles over, winded.
"Don't listen to a thing he tells you," she says.
"Well, ah, nice to meet you," Will says, holding out a hand for her to take. She eyes it mistrustfully for a second, then figures that if he tries to pull something she can always take care of herself. He has a firm handshake, but not firm enough to bruise her fingers. It makes her respect him more, knowing that he has control of his strength.
She stays with them for dinner, which Warren makes in the apron she got him, and even if she doesn't get to bitch about her day, they're not bad company at all. They're three years younger than her, which was an age in high school but isn't quite as long now.
They're graduating college in a few months, which makes her a little nostalgic for her own graduation. That's the only reason she starts talking about her own college experience - that and the wine, which Layla brought.
Warren looks surprised that she went to college, and she makes a face at him across the table. She's not sure if she's forgiven him yet for letting her look like a fool in front of his friends.
"I worked my way through," she says, when Will asks about her tattoo parlor.
"Oh, is that how you two met? The parlor?"
He's told them about the eagle tattoo, then. She locks eyes with him across the table, and she can see the blush creeping across his cheeks. She raises one eyebrow, daring him to say it.
He clears his throat, dipping his head lower, says,
"Ah, no. We knew each other before that."
She raises both her eyebrows in surprise. Warren must really be comfortable with these friends of his - she really shouldn't be surprised about that, but she's never seen him admit this to anyone else. He might have told his mom, but only after she'd met - and liked - his girlfriend.
"Oh really? Where did you two meet?" Layla has picked up on the tension like a dog on a scent. She is looking between Mira, who looks like she might start smirking at any moment, and Warren, who looks like he either wants to disappear or laugh.
"A club," he says, not looking away from his girlfriend. There's something weird and sexual going on between the two of them, and if they weren't on opposite sides of the table Layla is sure they would be - well, she doesn't really want to think about it.
"He's too embarrassed to say he hooked up with me before he knew my name," she says, sounding smug. He blushes. Layla looks at him in astonishment, then back at her own boyfriend. Will shrugs, possibly just as caught off guard as she is.
"How long have you been together?" She asks, perhaps a little to bright - or a little too astonished. The woman shrugs, breaking her stare-off with Warren to look over at Layla.
"I'm not sure. We met last summer."
"It's been eight months since our first date," he says, and Mira smiles at him. It's clear and unguarded and immeasurably brief, but in that moment it's obvious how much the two care for each other, despite all the teasing and the swearing and the pushing.