Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warren saw the people running passed him as he crossed the street towards the apartment building he'd just seen Emilie run into, an apartment building that housed a growing conflagration. And Warren saw the façade of the building slowly crumbling, pieces hitting the pavement, but Warren couldn't hear a thing. It was as if someone had simply pressed a mute button on his world, silencing all external noise so that his own thoughts seemed amplified in contrast.
Emilie was his mantra, repeating her name over and over again, but the pattern was becoming increasingly more integrated with every foul word he could remember until he couldn't tell if he was cursing the fire or her anymore.
When he finally reached the entrance to apartment, he felt a wave of heat wash over him, coursing out of the open front door. The inside of the building looked like a war zone, but Warren saw it out of his peripheral, his focus only allowing him to assess the damage enough to know that in just a few minutes he would not only have to worry about the fire, but also about the building collapsing. Tearing up the stairs he felt the temperature rise with every step, and by the time he reached the third floor, the smoke was so dense he could only see to about ten feet in front of him. He called out her name continually until his voice cracked from the strain. As he turned on the platform he was on, preparing to race up the flight of stairs that would lead him to the fourth floor, Warren heard someone cough and wheeze out a feeble "help."
He hesitated for only a minute, looking up at the stairs that would take him one flight closer to Emilie before turning to head off down the hallway toward the sound of the voice. He made it only a third of the way when he made out a figure huddling to his left, holding her shirt over her mouth and clinging to the wall as if willing herself to escape through the sheetrock. By the time Warren's arms encircled her, carrying her back toward the stairs, he'd discovered she was middle-aged and heavy. When he made it to the stairs he set her down, and looked at her, gauging her injuries.
"Are you alright?" he asked, hoping the answer was affirmative, so he could go back for Emilie. Emilie who he knew had to be farther up, even closer to the growing fire.
"Thank you. Thank you." She repeated, but didn't move, just stood there clutching his arm.
"Look," Warren said, grabbing her wrist tightly and giving it a rough shake as he pulled it off his arm. "Can you get down the stairs? There is some else still up there!"
She nodded, eyes still as wide as saucers. "Yes, I'm fine. Go." And with that she turned, and seizing the stair rail, began thundering down toward the ground floor.
The second he saw her move away, Warren turned and began his dash in the other direction, frantically trying not to decipher how long Emilie had been in the hazardous building, and how the risk increased with every second. He tore up the stairs to the fourth floor, and called out her name when he reached it. He took a few steps into the hallway, yelling as loud as he could for her, but no answer came. His mind whirring, Warren could feel his hands heating up as horror began infiltrating all the areas of his brain, including the ever constant attention he paid to controlling his powers. But nothing came close to stopping his feet; he pounded up the stairs, urging his body to move faster.
"Come on. Keep going, we're almost there." He heard, intermingled with searing coughs, only a half a flight ahead of him.
"Emilie!" Warren yelled, as she came into view. She held a crying toddler in one arm, and pulled a little boy along with the other hand. All three were covered in ash and dust and coughing with every breath. Warren's air rushed out of him in relief when he saw Emilie's watering eyes latch onto his.
A crash sounded from the ceiling above them, causing debris to rain down on them. Acutely aware that the apartment's framework couldn't take much more, Warren threw the skinny five year old under his left arm, and reached out with his right to grab Emilie's hand. Once he knew both were holding on tightly, Warren ran back down the steps, leading Emilie and the toddler out of the inferno and out onto the street.
The minute they'd reached the safety of the pavement, Warren felt his right arm being pulled down and then released. He turned to see Emilie, collapsed on the street, still holding the screaming toddler to her and gasping for air. Instinctively, Warren stood next to her, keeping watch.
Warren took in the scene around him, everything having drastically changed in the minutes he'd been in the building. The police had pushed the crowds back and formed a barricade, keeping everyone off of the empty street in which they were now standing. Firemen were out in droves trying to extinguish the flames, and amidst all of the chaos were superheroes, every one of them pitching in to help. Warren recognized Will's parents among the other heroes he'd seen before.
Turning back to Emilie when he felt her grab his arm to stand up, Warren's anger at her foolish act flared back into life. He couldn't even look at her. He picked up the boy again, and headed toward the masses. Passing through the line of policemen, all of whose attention was attached to the effective containment of the fire in front of them, Warren scanned the crowds until he saw the woman to whom the children belonged. Pushing through the people packed onto the sidewalk, he stopped at the woman.
"Momma!" The kid struggled in his arms, and the second his feet hit the ground he ran to his crying mother.
"Jason! Jeffie!" their mother responded, crying in earnest now but a smile covering her face. Warren watched as the mother took the baby from Emilie's arms, and pulled both kids as tight to her as possible.
"My babies. Oh, my boys. You're alright? Thank you," the mother rushed out, but not taking her eyes off of her kids once, her hands fumbling over them, as if making sure they were really there. Warren shook his head at Emilie, who was crying and smiling along with the mom, then grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly after him.
"Warren! Ouch, Warren stop! Where are you taking me?" Warren heard Emilie yell at him but he didn't slow. Stopping in front of an ambulance, Warren nodded to the EMTs.
"She needs to be checked out."
Arms folded across his chest, Warren watched with narrowed eyes as one of the men looked Emilie over for problems.
"You look pretty good, we've just got one burn that needs to be treated," the man responded, pulling out the necessary materials from his kit.
"Really?" Emilie asked. "Where?"
"The back of your right arm, burned right through your sweater." He picked up a pair of scissors and cut off the right sleeve just below her shoulder.
"Damn, this was my favorite cardigan, too." Emilie sighed as she smiled at the EMT.
He chuckled in return, but both turned in surprise when Warren punched the open ambulance door.
"Goddammit, Emilie, really? You're thinking about your clothes? You could've been killed by that stupid stunt." Warren fumed as he yelled at her.
Emilie held his gaze stoically as the now extremely uncomfortable EMT finished treating her.
"Thank you," she smiled at him tightly. Standing, Emilie walked to where Warren was pacing.
"Look. See, no harm done. I'm fine, no reason to blow up," she stated calmly.
Warren's gaze caught Emilie's for just a second and she flinched involuntarily when she saw the intensity there; without so much as a word, Warren's hand tightly encircled her left wrist and she felt herself being yanked through the throngs of people.
What the hell is his problem? Emilie thought to herself. He's blowing this whole thing way out of proportion, time to lighten up.
"Jeez Warren, where's the fire?" Emilie shouted as he kept racing on. Her attempts at humor had the opposite effect she'd been hoping for: Warren threw back a glare and turned down an empty shallow alley.
Finally releasing his vice grip on her wrist, Warren turned to face Emilie.
"What the fuck were you thinking, Emilie!? That is the stupidest thing I've ever seen in my entire life! Are you incapable of rational thought?" Emilie stepped back from the heat of his anger and the bite to his words but didn't back down.
"What was I thinking? Warren, the woman said her kids were alone in the apartment! What was I supposed to do?"
"Wait for the damn police and heroes, that's what."
"Come on! Even on a good day it takes them a minute or so to get here. What should I have done, just wait while those kids burned to death!?"
"Damn it, Emilie," Warren yelled as he stalked towards her, then punched the brick wall to her left. Jumping at his actions, Emilie recovered and faced him, hands on her hips.
"Chill out, War-"
"You're a citizen! Can't you just wait for the fucking heroes like everyone else does!?"
"Would you have waited?" Emilie yelled out the accusation.
Warren stopped his pacing, walked toward her and stopped a yard in front of her. Emilie only had a moment to wonder if she'd just made the situation worse before Warren spoke, his voice a deadly calm, all of his anger simmering just below every syllable.
"No, I damn well wouldn't have. But that's because I can do this," and his eyes never leaving hers, Warren ignited his hands and let the fire seep up his arms. Riveted to her green eyes, Warren watched as they widened at what they saw. Anger, understanding, and something played out in them. He let the fires go out until his hands looked just as they had moments before.
As they'd become friends and more, Warren had thought about what it would be like if he ever told her about his power. He'd envisioned it several different ways. He'd learned that her reactions were always verbal when she learned something new; she talked about it, she asked questions about it, or sometimes she just made loud exclamations. So, upon learning that he was a Super, Warren assumed that she'd either be completely pissed that he'd never told her or be so surprised that she'd let out a scream. But Warren was completely unprepared for Emilie's actual response.
Emilie's shoulders slumped, her hands fell listlessly by her side, and she looked remorsefully up at Warren.
"I don't even know what to say."
And with that, Emilie turned and walked out of the alley and back down the sidewalk in the general direction of her home.
Emilie was a little shocked at just how numb she felt. She could only compare it to the way it felt when you only had four minutes at the grocery store but you needed a million things and you left the list at home; she felt like her brain had short-circuited, as if there was so much to think about that her mind just refused to think at all.
Warren is a Super. Warren yelled at me. Warren saved me. Warren was rude all day. Warren made sure I was okay. Warren punched a brick wall. Warren's hands burst into flames. Warren never told me. Warren is always warm. Warren can't control his anger.
Emilie walked onward, as her mind kept flying through simple sentences, every one of them starring Warren as the subject, but each with a different connotation.
She stopped still on the sidewalk when one particularly harrowing thought emerged.
Mom.
The three letter word shook Emilie down to her roots. Shaking off the guilt and grief that accompanied the word and all that it meant, Emilie continued towards her house, now trying to avoid all of her thoughts until one more caused her to pause.
Warren hasn't come after me.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The group knew something was wrong with Warren. He'd spent the last half of the week alternatively moping and fuming. Knowing Warren well enough to know that pestering him about what was wrong would only land you with singed eyebrows, everyone decided to just give him his space hope that he would cool down by Monday.
But when Monday morning crawled around and Warren snapped at the smallest thing, Ethan decided it was time to stage an intervention.
Warren sat at his lunch table alone and tried to read his book. He couldn't make it more than a page at a time before he would throw it down, cursing his mind for always expecting to hear her voice ask him some stupid question. After tossing aside his book for the fourth time, Warren was joined at the table by Will, Layla, Ethan, Magenta, and Zach, all who looked at him expectantly.
Ignoring their gazes, Warren looked out one of the windows, and missed Layla nudging Will.
"So… uh, Warren… we-" Magenta kicked Will under the table. "I mean, I. I am… uh worried about you."
Warren locked his sullen eyes on Will. "Worried?"
"Well, you've been temperamental since Thursday." Zach tried.
"I am not temperamental." Warren shot a glare at Zach and reached once more for his book.
"Fine then, you must be PMSing. Whatever the hell is wrong, either tell us so we can help or get over it. There are bigger things to worry about right now," Magenta jumped in, referring to the two other attacks that happened over the weekend in Maxville.
"She's right, you know." Ethan added, and looked back at him aloof.
Warren looked at them for a moment and then felt even worse than he had before lunch started, if that was even possible. These were his friends, the only ones he'd ever really had. The ones that already put up with his general lack of enthusiasm on a daily basis, and with Emilie gone, alienating them would be disastrous. Not to mention that he'd actually miss them.
Layla interrupted his thoughts. "It has something to do with Emilie, doesn't it?"
He nodded, letting everyone know that the hippie had once again, accurately assessed his situation with Emilie.
"Bros before hos." Zach said. Magenta punched him in the arm and rolled her eyes at him, while Warren just looked back at him, trying to decide which course of action to take.
"Don't worry, it's nothing. It was a bad day. We just decided to, you know, go separate ways," Warren told his friends. It might not have been the whole truth, but he was determined that even though he couldn't stop arguing with himself about Emilie, he wasn't going to get his friends messed up in his problems.
Feigning a concerned look on his face, Warren looked back at his friends, "So what's the latest news about the Villains?"
Glad to put the subject behind them, the gang launched into a heavy discussion about the criminals plaguing Maxville. But while everyone debated the supervillains' endgame, Layla munched on her salad and looked at Warren thoughtfully.
Something just doesn't quite add up here, she thought to herself. And if I can't get the whole story from Warren, I'll just have to go to the other source.
So the cat's out of the bag. What happens next? Review and I pinky promise I'll tell you. The characters are about to learn that life only gets tougher.
Protector of Canon2- I hope this is the story for you!
Matchbox Dragon- thanks so much for the review; the changing pov was totally confusing, so I'm going with 3rd person from now on, that way I can voice everyone's thoughts and experience the thrill of being omniscient
Three2raise-well he hasn't pulled his head out of his bum yet, but he's a guy what can you expect
SilverMoon Gypsy- more thoughts from Emilie and Warren soon. Hope this chapter was to your liking
Lalunafour-yay to you for being the first to review; I needed that vote of confidence!
Now join these esteemed contemporaries of yours and review this chapter please.
