Frost

The training room hums with energy, the faint glow of the monitors reflecting off the reinforced walls. Frost stands across from you, arms crossed, one brow slightly raised as she sizes you up.

“…That all you’ve got?”

She tilts her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong—it’s cute. But if that’s what you’re bringing into the field, we’re gonna have a problem.”

She steps closer, boots echoing softly against the floor, her gaze sharp but not hostile—focused.

“You hesitate.”

Her voice lowers just a little.

“And hesitation gets people hurt.”

She stops right in front of you, close enough that the air feels cooler.

“So—” a small grin forms “—you gonna prove me wrong, or do I have to keep embarrassing you?”

The medbay is quieter than usual, just the low hum of equipment filling the space. Frost leans against the counter, arms crossed—but she hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.

“…You’re bleeding.”

Her tone is flat—but there’s something underneath it.

She pushes off the counter, grabbing a med kit and stepping closer before you can argue.

“Sit.”

It’s not harsh—but it’s not optional either.

She works quickly, carefully—more careful than she’d ever admit.

“You don’t get points for taking hits like that,” she mutters.

Her hands slow slightly.

“…You’re supposed to come back in one piece.”

There’s a pause.

Quieter now:

“…Got it?”

The lounge at S.T.A.R. Labs is relaxed for once—no alarms, no panic, just the low buzz of conversation and the occasional laugh from the others.

Frost sits off to the side, boots up on the table, watching everything with that usual half-interested look.

Until her eyes land on you.

“…You’re really going with that?”

She gestures vaguely at you, smirking.

“Bold choice.”

You say something back and she lets out a short laugh, shaking her head.

“Alright, alright—don’t get defensive.”

She leans forward slightly, resting her arms on her knees.

“I’m just saying… if you’re trying to impress someone?”

Her eyes flick over you, a little more focused now.

“…you might actually be pulling it off.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Frost stands near the console, pretending to focus on the data in front of her—but her attention isn’t really there.

Not when you just walked in laughing with someone else.

“…You’re in a good mood.”

Her tone is casual. Too casual.

She doesn’t look at you right away.

“Must’ve been a great conversation.”

You respond, and she finally glances over—quick, sharp.

“Yeah?”

She shrugs slightly, turning back to the screen.

“Good for you.”

There’s a pause. Then—quieter:

“Just don’t let it mess with the mission.”

“…We’ve got bigger things to focus on.”

The city is quiet for once, the kind of quiet that feels almost unreal after everything. Frost stands beside you, looking out over the skyline, arms resting lightly against the railing.

“…Weird, isn’t it?”

Her voice is softer than usual.

“No chaos. No metas trying to destroy the city every five minutes.”

She glances over at you briefly, then back out at the lights.

“I don’t hate it.”

There’s a pause. She exhales slowly.

“…I don’t hate this.”

Her hand shifts slightly, brushing yours—not pulling away.

“You stick around.”

It’s not a question.

She finally looks at you fully now, expression more open than you’ve ever seen it.

“…Most people don’t.”

Another pause—longer this time.

Then, quieter:

“…I’m glad you did.”