Once again, I'm sorry it's taken so long to update. I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chapter 10: Home

Kaitlyn's POV

The next day is a good day. The Strat and Tacs class seems so obvious and logical to me, I explain this whole procedure and almost get a round of applause for my answer. In Mad Science, I have this sudden epiphany about how a freeze ray works and fits together that Medulla says it's the third fastest construction he's ever seen from a student. The session at lunch goes well too, with Warren teaching me how to throw a punch properly, and he says he's really impressed with the power I put behind them. I just laugh and tell him there's a lot of pent-up stuff I need to get out. He stares at me curiously at that, but neither of us say anything more about it.

Wednesday, however, is a disaster. I keep zoning out in History, so of course Mr Asher picks me to answer a question I didn't hear, so end up looking like an idiot. The embarrassment and shame mess with my focus at lunch, so I keep getting hit by Warren's dulled punches rather than dodging them easily, which builds my frustration to feed into a vicious cycle. To top it all off, the whole shitty day must make me less careful in the Mad Science lab, because I knock a tray of equipment over, its small and fiddly contents spilling all over the floor, so Medulla makes me pick up every single damn piece by myself. Not only that but he makes me memorise how they're different and sort them into the correct separate drawers.

So that's how I've got here, sprinting out to the bus stop way later than I've ever been, despairing but unsurprised at the distinct absence of my bus.

"Shit," I groan, hands on my head and mildly panicking. Miller wanted me back tonight, I think just so she can keep an eye on me and attempt to curb my newfound independence, but I still don't want to rock the boat and draw too much attention to myself. I briefly toy with the idea of making an iceshelf and lowering myself down on that before I dismiss it, admitting to myself that I'm nowhere near practiced enough with my powers to be confident that I'll make it all the way down without passing out, to say nothing about any non-super witnesses. I've just resigned myself to the fact that there's nothing I can do, concluding that a night spent at school shouldn't be too bad – there should be food I can steal from the kitchens, and the chairs in the library are actually pretty comfy – when I spot another silhouette stuck up here. A very familiar one. I blink at my sheer luck before shaking my head to snap myself out of it before my chance at a safe descent disappears.

"Warren!" I call out, running towards him.

He immediately turns around, frowning when he sees me waving at him. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asks when I get closer. "Shouldn't you have caught your bus?"

I slump my shoulders. "Yeah, I should've. Long story. Listen...do you have a way down?"

He folds his arms with a smirk. "Yeah, my mom picks me up most days."

We both stand there in silence for a few seconds, me awkwardly trying to avoid asking for a favour and him with an infuriatingly knowing smirk on his face.

"Go on," he eventually gestures to me. "Just ask."

I sigh harshly, frustrated at my lack of self-proficiency. "Could I hitch a ride with you? Just down to ground level, I promise, I just don't think I can get down there myself -."

"Kait, stop," he holds his hand up. "Yes. The answer is yes, of course we can take you down. You think I'd just abandon you up here?"

"I don't like asking for help," I smile self-consciously.

He raises an eyebrow. "I thought that was my bad habit, not yours."

"We can share," I shrug, and he snorts out a laugh before I join in.

I've just caught Warren up with the mess that was my afternoon when he nods up to the sky, waving a hand once. I watch with intrigue and excitement as a fairly regular-looking car floats gracefully to land next to us. Well, I guess it's regular-looking aside from the fact it's flying and has its wheels tilted downward to expel whatever weird glowing stuff is in there that obviously keeps it floating. It suddenly hits me then, knocking my breath from me; this is Warren's mom. I'm going to meet Warren's mom. A weird urge almost overwhelms me; the urge to just make some lame excuse about being able to stay the night at the school and sprint back inside, the urge to just throw myself off the school and hope I'll be able to catch myself in time. Anything to avoid this potentially awkward but definitely terrifying encounter. Completely unaware of my terror, however, Warren just opens the door and ushers me quickly inside.

"Hey, mom," he calls to the dark head of hair in the driver's seat as he slides in after me. "Kait needs a ride back down. Mom, Kaitlyn. Kait, mom."

Despite my anxiety, I can't help but laugh at the very Warren method of introduction. My chuckles haven't quite died by the time the woman in front turns to look properly over her shoulder, a smile stretching across her beautiful face, its familiarity stunning me.

"Kaitlyn Rivers, by any chance?" she asks lightly, her dark eyes – also familiar – twinkling.

"Uh, yeah. How…?"

She laughs, the sound easy and joyful and playful. "My son never stops talking about you!"

"Mom!" Warren hisses, tactically avoiding my wide, questioning gaze, my only hope that the dark of the car hides the warmth of my cheeks.

She shrugs with a cheeky smile, turning back to the front. "Okay, kids, strap in."

We both pull the belts across us, but Warren astounds me with the completely natural way that he double-checks mine, making sure I'm safe. Before I can gather the breath that's been stolen by this unexpected kindness and consideration, the car lifts off the ground and starts taking us away from the school. My mouth is agape at how gentle the movement is.

"This is so much smoother than the bus ride," I murmur.

Warren's mother grins at me in the mirror. "Medulla owed me a favour a few years ago, so he gave me a car with the latest anti-grav tech."

I scowl, still seething about my afternoon. "Medulla's an ass."

Before I can choke on my regret and apologise for both the aggression and the language, she laughs loudly. "Let me guess; he made you clear up part of the lab, right?"

"Yes!" I lean forward, agitated. "I knocked over one tray and he made me gather it all up by myself, and then made me sort out the contents into separate trays anyway!"

Instead of sympathising, however, she nods sagely at me. "He likes you."

"Huh?"

She grins. "He does that to each of his more promising students; he gives you some more complex task or tasks because he knows you'll be able to follow it. If he knows you won't do well in Mad Science, he just leaves you in the dust and doesn't bother with you at all!"

The car beneath me barely feels like it's moving at all, in complete contrast to the massive seismic shift in my self-esteem and my ability at Mad Science. Eyes and mouth wide open, I stare at the mirror, my brain working overtime to try and comprehend what this actually means. The next smile she gives me in the mirror is much softer and more knowing, obviously somehow understanding exactly what is going through my head.

"Sorry, honey; I think I broke your friend."

"She does this sometimes." Warren's smile is obvious in his voice. "Just give her a minute or two to realise she's been awesome all along."

"Aww!" his mother croons in the mirror.

"Oh, shut up!"

The urge to laugh and see just how red and sulky Warren's face is snaps me out of my paradigm shift, and I can't help but giggle as he glares at both me and his mother.

"Well!" she moves on. "Even though you've now learnt that Medulla views you highly rather than hates you, organising the Mad Science lab is still not fun, and it sounds like it's been a whole day of that sort of thing. It sounds like you could do with a nice meal round a friend's house, so I've decided we're having you for dinner. How do chicken fajitas sound?"

"What?" I squeak, trying to stabilise myself from the mental and psychological whiplash of the whole situation.

"Yes!" Warren mutters, grinning wider than I've ever seen.

She rolls her eyes in the mirror, smiling fondly. "I know you don't have a problem with it. I was asking Kaitlyn, doofus."

I'm still floundering as they both turn to me. "Uh... I... But..."

"Just roll with it and agree," Warren smirks. "Save us all some time."

Warren's mom glares. "What are you saying?"

"That I get my flexibility from you," Warren raises an eyebrow defiantly.

"And you're welcome," she winks back.

The obviously affectionate trading of barbs between mother and son makes me laugh loudly in both amusement and simple joy, and the car quickly fills with two more sets of laughter, and my heart swells at the sound; this, this is a family. This is love and comfort and happiness and security and warmth, and it's from a single mom and her slightly broken and guarded son. This is everything I'm missing ringing out so clearly in the laughter of a less than perfect household, and the hope and comfort that gives me – that I may one day experience that sort of closeness, in spite of my brokenness – is staggering in its intensity. Tears spring to my eyes at the sudden delightful sharpness of the emotions in the moment, and I can only hope they think it's because I'm laughing so hard.

As I calm down, I tilt my head at Warren. "Are you sure you're alright with me coming round?"

He blinks at me, bewildered. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I shrug, self-conscious. "I don't know. It's your space, I guess; I just don't want to intrude."

His eyes soften slightly. "Kaitlyn, it's fine, seriously."

I smile shyly then grin at the front seat. "Okay, then. I'd love to stay for dinner. Thanks, Mrs Peace."

Crap, is she still Mrs Peace or has she changed her name and title, with or without divorcing Warren's dad. Crap, why did I just assume she had divorced his dad just because he's in jail?! Dammit, Kait!

My throat closes up as she scoffs at my address. "Ugh, 'Mrs Peace' makes me sound old. Call me Michelle."

Huh, does that mean she's still with him? Oh, shut up, Kaitlyn!

"Uh, you are old, Mom," Warren grins.

She gasps and glare at him in the mirror. "I am not even forty, don't you even! Also, were you wanting to eat any of those fajitas tonight?"

He immediately throws his arms carefully around the front seat to hug her as best as he can while not interrupting her driving. "I love you and you are the best."

"That's what I thought," Michelle mutters victoriously.

While I giggle at Warren's quick U-turn, I'm more stunned by how easily he just showed affection to his mom in front of me. It's fairly surprising that he'd be that affectionate alone, but to actually show it in my company is both startling and heart-warming.

Michelle carefully lands the car outside of town, to avoid non-super witnesses, but it's not that much further before we pull into the driveway of a cozy red-brick house. I blink around the eerily familiar streets with a disbelieving grin on my face.

"No way," I laugh, pointing further down the road. "I live, like, ten minutes walk that way."

Warren gives me a funny look. "Maxville's not that big, and we go to the same school; I was under the impression that all students are from a similar area."

I blush. "Oh, right. Sure, that makes sense. It's just weird to actually see how close you really are."

Warren shrugs and walks up to the door as Michelle gets stuff out of the boot. I follow closely behind him, not wanting to stand awkwardly outside. He unlocks then opens the door, and I swear I hear happy and excited snuffling and panting. My eyebrows shoot up as I follow Warren inside and he greets this excited husky who dances around him, gladly receiving a fuss behind the ears before prancing away in his obvious uncontainable glee at seeing Warren again.

"Hey, buddy!" Warren calls. "Hey, crazy boy! Where ya goin'? Are you happy to see me? Huh? Who's a good boy!"

I'm completely frozen in the doorway, staring at this utterly unexpected display of affection and happiness from Warren Peace. And then the dog notices me, and stops dead. Not aggressive, but obviously caught by surprise at this stranger in its house, and he stares with his ears up. He glances quickly at Warren before pointing his nose at me again. Warren chuckles, gesturing to me.

"She's fine, go and say hi!"

Immediately, the dog pads up to me, sniffing my hand that is suddenly outstretched without my conscious input. He steps carefully closer to sniff my clothes, then his tail starts wagging joyfully, his tongue lolling out in greeting. I can't help but laugh in delight.

"Hi, there!" I gently place my hand on his head before I start fussing him more enthusiastically. "Oh my gosh, you're so beautiful! Aww, hello!" I beam at Warren as he watches this exchange. "What's his name?"

"Qīng," he smiles warmly as the dog's tail starts wagging faster at the sound of his name.

"Qīng," I echo, sifting through my mental Mandarin dictionary before I land on the translation. "Soft."

Warren freezes, staring at me in surprise, his cheeks colouring slightly and eyebrows drawing down into a scowl as an endeared smile spreads across my face.

"You named your dog 'soft'?" I giggle.

"No, I named him 'Qīng'!" he snaps back before stalking away to take his shoes off.

Michelle appears next to me, subtly nodding her head, and we share a laugh at her son's expense. I pet Qīng a little more before I take my shoes off and make my way further into the house.

Warren had gone through the door on the left rather than the one in front, so I follow him into what's obviously the lounge area. A large sofa sits with its back to the door to the hallway, facing a TV that looks huge to me before I remember that's only because the single TV at Daisy Bank is so small and crap. No less than two games consoles sit nearby. An armchair rests perpendicular to the sofa, facing the large front window. Past the sofa and further back into the house lies a small open dining area, separated from the lounge by only a small shoulder-height partition that juts out ever so slightly, topped with a few potted plants. The table, chairs and small cabinet are all a warm light wood of some kind. The kitchen beckons from further back, through a door that I get the feeling remains permanently open to the dining area. It's warm and welcoming and comfortable and secure, and everything I want in a home.

"This is so nice," I breathe, basking in the warmth of the half-height wood-panelled walls and deep crimson upper half.

"Is it?"

Warren's question is as quiet and tentative as my comment. Turning around, I find him staring intently at me from the lounge, his eyes and expression weirdly vulnerable.

I smile at him. "Definitely. This is everything a home should be."

"Even when it's not as big, or as nice, or as tidy as other homes?" he presses, barbed eyes never leaving mine. "Even when there's no father figure here? Even when sometimes the teenage son has to offer some of his evening job wages to cover some of the mortgage payment, despite his single mom never wanting to ask that or admit that she needs to?"

The vulnerability makes sense now. Never breaking eye contact, I walk slowly up to him until we're standing toe to toe. I crane my head to keep staring at him as he towers over half a head above me. His eyes burn into me, fresh molten obsidian rock threatening to cool and remain shut forever.

"None of that makes a difference," I whisper, hoping the depth of my sincerity shows somehow. "This is still a home, an amazing home. And I envy you."

The rock cracks, and the liquid warmth spills out as his breath catches quietly. He swallows sharply then shudders out a breath, but never breaks eye contact as this warmth continues to weep incessantly out of him. I smile at him gently, moved by the level of vulnerability he's knowingly exposed to me, and by the apparent comfort I've given him; even the smallest level of comfort I can give him I count as one of the greatest achievements in my life.

"Right, then!" Michelle calls from the hallway. Whatever moment that had built between us shatters at her voice, and we spring apart from each other while I pull my hand from his – when had I taken his hand? Or had he taken my hand? – and I scratch my nose embarrassed as I carefully and intently examine the bookcase to the side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Warren doing much of the same, clearing his throat quietly and walking off to fuss with his bag.

Michelle walks into the dining room before I can be sure my face isn't bright red anymore, so I bend down to actually properly inspect the bookcase. More in a jumbled mess than in any kind of order, the shelves are bowing under the weight of the books as they are stuffed full, with some books resting flat on top of the initial upright books. Cooking and self-help books – mainly to do with managing stress – are interspersed with books about dog care and some fantasy and sci-fi novels.

"Notice how the cookbooks are in perfect condition, just with that fine layer of dust that says, 'I never get used'," Warren grins from the floor nearby while taking textbooks out of his bag.

"Quiet, you," Michelle taps him on the head with a folder as she walks past, then places it down on the dining table. "I'm pretty sure you bought at least four of those novels about two years ago, and they're still in pristine condition, too."

"The novels are for you?" I raise my eyebrows at Warren.

"I know!" Michelle calls from the kitchen doorway, her eyes wide and twinkling. "He can actually read! And does it for fun!"

She ducks into the kitchen giggling as a pen goes flying over my head towards her. Warren is scowling in her direction as I turn back to him with a grin. He rolls his eyes at my still questioning expression.

"Yes, I read, and I like fantasy and sci-fi. Sue me."

"I would not have pegged you as one for either of those genres."

"What did you think I'd like?"

I shrug. "If I'd even considered that you'd like to read in your spare time, maybe action? Adventure? Crime thrillers?"

"Those aren't exactly short on adventure or thrills," he nods to the shelves. "But really, I'm interested in their world-building. In books like that, people can do exactly the same as this –" he summons some fire in his hands "– but the author tries to explain it somehow. Explain the science, explain the magic, explain the process. I think it's interesting to see what explanations people can conjure up, because as far as I know, no one in this reality really knows why some people have powers."

I simply stare at him at the sheer wisdom of this kind of thinking. Gazing down at my own hands with wide eyes, it's like I'm seeing them, really seeing them in all their powerful glory, for the first time.

"That's such a good point, and an interesting way of thinking." Reaching out with my powers briefly, I locate and arc some water out of a plant vase towards my hands, morphing it until it becomes a water-rose that I mimic holding by the end of its stem, my other hand hovering over the top as I manipulate some diamonds of water to dance around it.

"I've never thought about why I can do this," I continue, entranced in my own display. "Just the 'what' and 'how'. What strength of shield can I make? Can I use my hands less to be less obvious or do I have less control without my hands? I never asked why I had powers, I quickly just accepted I had them and moved on to what I could do with them."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Warren reassures me, smiling at my rose. "I just find it interesting to speculate about the 'why'."

Impressed by this surprisingly intellectual side of him, I smile gently at Warren, both of us so calmly and casually powering up in front of each other. The thrill of the situation suddenly hits me; this is the first time I've ever overtly used my powers off school grounds, and the freedom that comes along with it is exhilarating.

"That's beautiful!"

I blink as Michelle suddenly appears at our side, wide glittering eyes fixated on my rose display. Her smile is so surprisingly childlike that I can't help but laugh and draw it closer to her.

"Thanks," I murmur. "I've been practicing control."

"I'd say you've succeeded!" she laughs, examining it from all angles. "Look at the detail on that rose..."

Shy at such open praise and scrutiny, I keep it up for a few more seconds before gently flowing it back into the vase. "I'm sure your powers can be just as beautiful."

She bobs her head. "In its way, I guess. But mine are chaotic by nature."

She holds her hands up in front of her almost a foot apart, index fingers pointing up. Less than a second later, a small bolt shoots between her two fingers, then another and another, the timing and length of the spark completely random.

"You see?" she says. "I don't have the control that you have. I can control when it happens, and I've definitely got better at controlling where it goes, but it never sticks around, and often just does what it likes."

Eyes wide with delight, I stare between the bolts and her face, my smile probably bordering on manic.

"Shellshock! Of course!" I cheer quietly. "I can't believe I didn't recognise you!" Even as she smiles at me warmly, I freeze with a sudden revelation. "Wait... Shellshock... And your name is Michelle..."

At this, she grins and winks at me. "I was quite proud of that, too."

Warren makes a scoffing sound in his throat and rolls his eyes, but I just giggle at her. "Okay, that's pretty cool. But the real test is this; please, please tell me you've powered up before while saying the word 'shazam'."

Warren snorts. "Come on, Kait, not all of us are as big a nerd as you are –."

"Three times," Michelle grins.

"What?!" Warren stares at his mother with something amusingly like horror. "Why the hell did I never know that my own mom was a nerd?!"

Michelle and I just laugh loudly at his woeful expression, so he scowls at us and skulks away with his textbooks and notepad. Michelle just winks at me with a glittering look.

"Let's get started on those chicken fajitas."

"Yes, please!" Warren calls from the dining area. "Gimme delicious food to distract me from this traumatic truth I've learnt about my mother!"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic!" Michelle rolls her eyes. "You have your T-shirts, jewellery and posters in your bedroom for your music and TV tastes; let me have my own fun!"

"I tried to tell him to watch Avatar: The Last Airbender," I grin at her.

She raises her eyebrows. "Oh, definitely! I think you'd actually enjoy that one, honey! It's really deep and philosophical but still has awesome fight scenes and storylines."

He just snorts. "Yeah, whatever."

I shrug at Michelle in defeat before I roll up my sleeves. "Okay, how can I help?"

She blinks at me before smiling warmly. "Oh, that's very sweet of you to offer, Kaitlyn, but our kitchen isn't exactly conducive to more than one person in there comfortably."

"So get a drink now, if you want one before dinner," Warren grumbles from the work station he set up on the dining table.

"There are only two of us in the house, honey," Michelle berates him softly. "We don't need a big fancy kitchen."

"Need? No," Warren looks up from his homework to his eyes into hers, his defiant sincerity blazing. "But you deserve one. You deserve better than a small crappy rundown terraced just because your husband was a screw-up."

"Warren."

Michelle doesn't shout. She quietly blazes right back at her son, meeting his challenge head on. My breath hangs somewhere in my throat, unwilling to be expelled into air that's as charged as a storm about to break. Contrary to everything I know about Warren Peace, he backs down first, breaking her eye contact to write an answer aggressively on the worksheet in front of him. Michelle walks casually into the kitchen, sighing sadly.

Swallowing thickly, I flounder silently over what action would be the least awkward to do right now. I settle for getting my own books and notepad out, deciding to get started on the stupid history essay we've been set. A thick, tense silence hangs in the air like acrid smoke, and I endure its poison silently. Just as I've finally been able to tune it out and actually focus on the words in front of me, Warren surprises me once again by a sigh as quiet and sad as his mother's was.

"Sorry you had to see that."

Eyes abandoning my work to fix on him, my heart throbs as Warren Peace sits slumped forward, shoulders hunched and face twisted in weariness, in defeat. My own expression scrunches in sympathy.

"Don't apologise," I reassure him. "You're right, after all; you both deserve better than what you have. Though that doesn't mean what you have isn't nice."

He sighs again, staring blankly down at his workbook, obviously not really seeing it. I swallow again before gathering my courage.

"Warren, can I ask you something?"

He shrugs, his weariness fuelling indifference.

"Do you hate your father?"

His indifference is immediately blown away as his head snaps to me, eyes like clenched fists and accusations. I quickly tense up, ducking my head slightly, but force myself not to look away from him. With my eyes glued to him, I spot signs I didn't expect; his breath comes more quickly, and while his hands squeeze each other on the table, it's not anger I see in his eyes; it's frustration, and almost panic.

He eventually lowers his gaze to his paper again, trying to burn a hole straight through it. "No," he brokenly growls out through gritted teeth, like confessing a heinous crime. "No, I don't hate him. No matter how much I want to hate him for what his choices have done to this family, no matter how much my brain tells me I should... I can't."

He meets my gaze again, his eyes dangerously close to shimmering. "He's my dad."

He doesn't need to say any more. I know exactly what he's so desperately trying to hide but simultaneously wants someone to unearth; those years with his dad won't ever be taken away by anything. Not distance, not separation, not time. The sheer beauty of that loyalty and love makes me smile, and my mouth is moving before I can stop it.

"I'd like to know the version of him that you know."

He starts, staring at me with wide vulnerable eyes and a mouth slightly open in shock. Realising that I meant every word I said, I just smile at him warmly. He swallows thickly once before grabbing his pen and scribbling intently on his workbook. Turning back to my own work, I smile as I realise his breath is coming slightly shakier than before, and his pen trembles in his hand any time he pauses.

So I hope you guys enjoyed it! I also hope it didn't end too abruptly; the chapter was kind of getting long!