If there was one thing that Warren could understand, it was the constant need to replace clothing. His powers made that necessary. While his jacket seemed to be immune to the flames, it could have just been that he kept them away from it because it had belonged to his father. As much as he hated the man, it was still his lucky jacket.
He walked down to the laundry room, with a basket full of singed clothing, but none of it was unsalvagable. He heard her voice before stepping through the door, smiling slightly, but not expecting her to be alone. When he realized she was he walked over to the washer across from the one she was using and put down his basket. Looking at the jacket held up between them, "Firefight?" Though it had a different meaning to him, he knew she would get it, and he liked to reference fire. It was a part of him.