Disclaimer: If they were mine, there would have been more Titans East episodes.
A/N: This fic. This bloody fic. It has taken me over a year (thirteen bloody months) to write. I started it on holiday in 2006 when I had the heebie jeevies about starting my teacher training course. I've finished it when I have the heebie jeevies about starting my new job and being eaten alive by rabid students. There were a lot of heebie jeevies in between the commencement and completion of this bloody fic. And I'm still not happy with it. Natch.
Feedback would be slavered over and feasted upon. Please feed the hungry writer!
First Impressions
© Scribbler, July 2006/August 2007.
"Don't be over self-confident with your first impressions of people." – Chinese Proverb.
Up until he spotted her over by the refreshments, Roy was pretty sure he would've enjoyed an evening at Belly Burger more than this. If he was being totally honest, he would've preferred Chinese water torture to one more minute of businessmen in ill-fitting suits making 'clever' conversation in an effort to meet Ollie through his naïve little ward. Really, no matter how many times he politely told people he wasn't Ollie's secretary, he actually had nothing to do with Ollie's company, and no, he didn't want to marry their daughters so they had access to Ollie's millions, they never got the hint.
Charity functions brought out a better class of leech, but still, clue in the title and all that. He'd fended off only two secretarial advances, which was pretty good for one of these evenings, and if there'd been one hottie among the pack of giggly debutantes it might not have been a total washout. Except that he'd checked out the talent while mooching unsuccessfully around the drinks waiters, and the girls were all third-generation inbreds from the shallow end of the blue-blood gene pool – buck-toothed, squint-eyed or slathered in so much make-up you couldn't tell what you were getting yourself into.
He was just considering slipping out to the kitchens to bother Rosa's crew when he happened to glance at the mountain of crab pâté sandwiches Ernest had made. The girl was standing with her back to the dance floor, so at first all he could see was a mass of tightly curled hair and black satin draped over shoulder blades like Cadillac fins. Then she turned around and his inner hottie-o-meter, already on the alert after previous dire offerings, cranked up to the alarm bell.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner.
It was a little weird that she wasn't standing with the other girls their age – too many of these functions had taught Roy that they liked to hang around in packs, or like some giant amoeba, the better to snag incautious boys as they went past – but he wrote this off as them being jealous, since she was the only attractive female in the room under thirty. With a deftness born of repetition, he extracted himself from one of Colonel Hemmington's boring war stories and wended his way to the refreshments table.
The girl was poking at a tray with a finger that, he noticed, was not topped with nail polish. This was also a little odd, as most girls treated these events like fashion parades, dolling up so much a peacock would feel underdressed. Still, her nails were shapely and bore all the hallmarks of a recent manicure. That was a good sign. He hated when girls didn't take care of themselves. Not that it'd deter him, but finding hair in the wrong places made the whole experience less enjoyable.
"It's veal," he said by way of greeting.
She didn't startle, but a faint expression of disgust twisted her features. "Really? Man, I was way off." She spoke with an accent Roy was more used to hearing from behind a mask, but he reasoned there must be some richissime here tonight – the 'newly empowered', as Ollie called them, who'd made their money through hard graft and now didn't know what to do with it except copy what all the Old Money families did.
It was kind of sad, Roy thought, until he remembered that even though Ollie was technically Old Money, his actual fortune was all his own doing, and Roy's access to it was due to lucky breaks and a streak of hands-on philanthropy most Old Money wouldn't dream of. They preferred donating so they looked good but could keep the unwashed masses at arm's length. Ollie was more of a doer when it came to giving aid.
Which was also how he'd ended up in lime green tights, but that was another story.
Roy treated the pretty girl to one of his gigawatt smiles. "Hi. I'm Roy."
"Oh, I know who you are," she replied, sticking out her hand. Very forthright.
Roy bowed to etiquette and raised the back to his lips, but didn't hold onto it longer than was proper when he saw the confusion on her face. It quickly morphed into a smile, however, and her lipstick was bright enough that he almost missed the way it didn't reach her eyes.
"Um, everybody here does," she hurriedly added.
She was tense. Roy wondered whether her father or mother had told her he was the best catch in the room. It didn't matter either way, but he was prey to idle curiosity. It wasn't like he had any plans of coupledom himself, but he'd never say no to a quickie in the cloakroom. He was Ollie's ward, after all, and so had a reputation as a heartbreaker to maintain.
"Yeah. Mixed blessing, actually. Although the stateroom does look good tonight." Roy gestured at the decorations. "And I gather the auction has a bunch of good lots in it. That should make plenty of money for the, uh…"
"The Kasnia War Relief Effort?"
"Yeah, that's it." He had no idea if that was right, but she had no reason to lie and he was only making small-talk anyway.
Each passing second told him more about her – her body language in particular was revealing. She held herself with a confidence he'd only seen a couple of times before, and never in daylight, but she was also nervous as a shrimp in a room of boiling saucepans. She didn't actually glance around the room while talking to him, but he got the impression she'd like to. An air of forced composure hung around her like a shroud. She wasn't just looking at him, she was studying him; using him to block out the rest of the assembly.
Her dress was cut low and sleeveless, which gave him a great view of her tits, but also showed off firm biceps when she leaned backwards against the table. He'd seen rich girls so skinny you could push them through the eye of a needle and they wouldn't touch the sides, but she looked like she worked out for more reasons than just keeping her shape. She wasn't brawny, like the girls who manned the door at certain clubs downtown, but she was … robust was probably the best word for it. There was an actual ass under that dress.
Curioser and curioser, thought the part of his brain that wasn't already undressing her. Perhaps he'd discovered a new breed of rich girl. Perhaps she was from one of the very new richissime and hadn't yet relinquished the lessons of her old neighbourhood.
Or perhaps this was another attempt to kidnap and ransom him. If so, this was even worse than the last one, even if they did use prettier bait. Meh. He wagered he could still rescue himself if things went pear-shaped.
And speaking of pear-shaped …
"Listen," he said, cutting right to the chase, "these functions are boring as double trigonometry. You want to get out of here?"
"Uh, shouldn't you stay for the auction? Since, y'know, your – dad?"
Roy snorted. "Ollie's my legal guardian, but we don't go in for all that father-son stuff. We find it muddies the waters too much." Especially since they were already arguing about the differences in equality between 'sidekick' and 'partner'. Especially since Ollie sometimes acted even more like an emo teenager than Roy, flouncing across the rooftops in a huff. "And yeah, I'm supposed to make an appearance so the newspapers can get snap-happy, but life's a lot more interesting if you don't do what's expected of you all the time. Or don't you find that?"
"Oh yeah. I heard that." The words were invested with something Roy couldn't understand, but it was enough that she hadn't written him off as too cheesy to be worth the effort, or merely simpered to ingratiate herself. "But won't people notice if you're gone?"
He turned on his gigawatt smile again. "Hey, if it makes you feel better, I'll find Ollie and tell him I'm going. He'll understand."
She shrugged one slender shoulder, like it didn't matter much to her what he did, but when he made to let the crowd reabsorb him she caught his wrist. Her grip was strong. "It's a little crowded in here, and I think that blonde chick over there is ready to stab me with her hairpins just for talking to you."
Roy glanced in the direction she nodded and found himself looking at Reece Shiflett, the upwardly mobile daughter of engineering powerhouse Ezra Shiflett. Reece had more money than brain cells and a face like a pat of butter left out in the sun too long. Her watery blue eyes narrowed at him and the other girl with obvious pique.
"If he gives you permission to leave, how about I meet you out on the balcony first?"
Roy grinned. "Nobody gives me permission. I'll be there in five."
"If she hasn't tried to push me off by then."
"Babe, I'd so be there to catch you if you fell."
Okay, so that last line was beyond cheddar, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. It was living with Ollie so long, Roy told himself as he scanned for his argumentative guardian.
When Roy located him, Ollie was deep in conversation with Bruce Wayne, a fellow millionaire from Gotham with a reputation as a playboy that matched – if not eclipsed – Ollie's own. Roy waited on the fringes until he was noticed, resisting the urge to tap his foot or shake his watch by his ear. The two men traded anecdotes and sipped their glasses like they didn't control enough collateral between them to outshine several small countries.
"I think your ward would like a word," said Wayne eventually, gesturing with what was a remarkably full glass of sherry, considering how many times he'd raised it t his lips.
Ollie looked at Roy. His smile was instantly broad as a river, and about as genuine as iron pyrite. "So he is. Hey, I haven't seen your ward around recently, Brucie. Been keeping him on a short leash? Or has the boy done what his old man couldn't and found a girl to tame him?"
Wayne shook his head amiably. "Dick's never really gone in for following in my footsteps – unlike your boy, Roy."
"I'd say chip off the old block, but obvious differences would make me a liar," said Ollie, indicating his thick blond hair and beard compared to Roy's ginger.
The two men laughed, exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then parted company. A hungry crowd of do-gooders latched onto Wayne, while Roy drew Ollie to one side where they wouldn't be overheard or watched.
As he did so the older man's expression changed – nothing so dramatic as public face to private, since there were photographers skulking about, but his eyes were suddenly less good-humoured. It was like seeing a drunken man sober up in less than three seconds. Suddenly he was a lot more there than he'd been.
"I suppose I should be grateful you've deigned to inform me of your plans, but I'm not happy about this," he grumbled once Roy had outlined where he was going. "It's irresponsible, even for you."
"C'mon, Ollie. You know I wouldn't stop you if there was a piece of tail in it for you."
"You know those are mostly rumours."
"And all rumours need a basis. That's why they're rumours – none of the girls I go with ever want to broadcast it afterwards. They're too embarrassed. And frankly, it's their own fault for letting me into their panties in the first place. They shouldn't be so easy." He grinned again.
Ollie frowned with the barest movement of his eyebrows. "And you're happy to keep feeding the rumour mill."
"I see it as my sworn duty."
"You should know better. You, especially, should know better."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"I think you already know what."
Roy matched Ollie's minimal frown with his own. "Look, I said I'd be five minutes, and I'm going no matter what you say, but I thought you might like to know in case I don't catch you later." Before Ollie suited up for the other half of what was usually their nighttime activities.
It'd already been decided that Roy might have to fill in here if Ollie couldn't get away without rousing suspicions, covering for him and posing for pictures and whatnot. Customarily they waited until after these events before going on patrol, but there'd been some trouble at the docks for the past three nights and Ollie wanted to get to the bottom of it quickly, before any more people ended up at the bottom of the river. Roy was prohibited from going after a stunt the previous night involving a bunch of thugs, a gun he didn't see until he was among them, and a deus ex machina courtesy of Green Arrow. It was a lot less stupid than the stuff Ollie had pulled on his own, but unfairness was par for the course these days. Half the time Ollie was relying on him as backup (so long as he followed orders to the letter and didn't dream of questioning what he was told to do), the other half he seemed actively trying to drive Roy from the vigilante scene altogether.
At least, Ollie'd said before the party, Roy could relax in the knowledge that someone was keeping an eye on the city while he played at being normal. To which Roy had only scowled his best teenage boy scowl and stalked off to listen to the ear-bleedingly loud music he knew Ollie hated. He was being 'grounded' more and more these days. Perhaps Ollie was having second thoughts about letting him into that life, but frankly it wasn't his decision anymore. Roy had made his choice a long time ago. It wasn't for Ollie to deny him that any more than he could deny him air in his lungs. Did the old man expect him to just go back to being ignorant, to drive around in a limo while a few streets away people were robbed and raped and murdered, and do nothing like some spoilt little rich brat?
Fuck that. Fuck that with bells on.
Ollie spent a fraction of a second thinking about it and then sighed. They'd butted heads over this sort of thing before. Like the costumed crime-fighting bit, Ollie was worried about Roy aping his own activities a little too keenly, but since Roy was already grounded for the night it seemed he was willing to stand aside on this one.
With a weary frustration, Ollie waved a hand and said, "Get lost, then." It wasn't a blessing, but it wasn't an order to pack his bags, either. Roy'd had a couple of those thrown after him recently, too, after exceptionally heated arguments. "And Roy?"
Anxious to be off now, Roy nearly snapped at the man who'd raised him. "What?"
"Be careful."
"Aren't I always?"
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"You're too uptight, Ollie."
Ollie grunted. It moved the hairs of his beard. "Wise-ass little punk."
The balcony was huge but empty. Over the edge, the city looked extremely peaceful – so much so that even someone like Roy, who knew exactly how un-peaceful it could be, was almost convinced. A light breeze blew, and there was some low cloud cover, but from time to time the beautiful full moon broke through and shone down. It was the perfect temperature, warm enough to go without a jacket, chilly enough to make girls in low-cut dresses shiver and accept warm arms around them.
The entire picture was ruined only by an irritated female voice. "Yeah, I get that, but … no, I'm not making excuses! I'm perfectly capable of – excuse me? That's better. All I'm saying is, do we gotta get him? Is it absotively pososlutely certain he's the one? It's just that … well, this guy's so slimy, and talk about egotistical. It was so easy to get him on his own, following his unmentionables like a bull with a ring through its nose. Don't exactly say a lot for his brainpower. What's that? Oh, crap, I think I hear someone coming."
Roy pasted on a smile as he pulled the cord from the thick velvet drapes, allowing them to billow across the doorway, and loudly shut the doors on the party, segregating the balcony and making it an entirely discrete space.
When he turned around the girl was there, also smiling and twisting her hands coquettishly in front of her. The lights from surrounding buildings cast her partly in silhouette, drawing attention to her figure and the way her dress clung to it. There was a diamond choker around her neck. It sparkled entirely too much.
Sometimes glass glitters more than diamonds because it has more to prove.
"Hey," said Roy.
"Glad you could make it," she answered. "I was starting to think you wouldn't show."
"And abandon a beautiful girl? Never." He stepped forward. "Miss Shiflett didn't make any move against you, I see."
"Who, that ugly blonde chick? Nah, I think she could see she couldn't even last three rounds with a fruit fly, so she stuck with her buddies. Safer."
"I guess. It's cold tonight, huh?"
"Only because we're high up. This is, what, the fortieth floor?"
"Forty-first."
She whistled. It was a very un-ladylike thing to do. "And your guardian owns the whole building, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
There was a loaded pause.
"Would you like my jacket?" He'd already started taking it off, and was loosening his necktie.
"Uh, thanks, but no thanks."
"Okay." Roy tossed it aside.
The girl watched it land, and it suddenly occurred to Roy that he hadn't even asked her name. She hadn't volunteered it, either. Rich girls were usually candid about which family they came from, as though it made any difference to him. They scattered it in conversation like seed, but he was the proverbial barren ground to that sort of thing.
An image arrived unbidden in his head, nauseatingly clear, of the last time he did this and the girl slipped her hands up the back of his shirt, found the thin raised edge of a scar and looked enquiringly at him through big green, contact-lensed eyes. He'd pushed her away, grabbed the few clothes he'd managed to take off, and left without a word.
He knew, with unpleasant clarity, that the two things he enjoyed most always worked against each other to make his life awkward. If he wasn't being called away on 'business', he was getting distracted on the job by long legs and short skirts. And while he was getting better at not being distracted, he couldn't afford to let any girls he went with get suspicious of why one of the most cosseted boys in the world had a collection of scars to make some criminals envious.
"Uh, maybe we should take this a bit slower," said the girl. "Get to know each other a little first."
"If you like. I'm in no hurry. But I can't tell you much more about me than the average magazine. My life is an open book." To emphasise, Roy spread his palms. Look, carrying no weapons, please do not shoot.
"Somehow I doubt that. There's gotta be something about you the tabloids don't know, right? I mean, nobody's life is that open." She was stalling. She'd been quick enough to take him up on his offer while they were inside, but now she was delaying like she was waiting for something – or someone – to enter stage left and remove her from this situation. Added to what Roy had heard before, this didn't fill him with anticipation for the bit of fun he'd hoped for when he first spotted her.
Damn it. Why were all the best-looking girls stupid, unstable, or bait?
"Mine is. Honestly." Liar, liar, pants on fire. "What you see is what you get. And speaking of getting …"
He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw her mouth something resembling 'Aw crap' at that moment. If she was a plant (and he was almost certain she was), then she was a terrible one. An amateur, certainly. He promised himself not to be too rough with her, since she had all the earmarks of some daddy's little girl manipulated into the role for the evening to impress her mob boss father, or save him from jail, or whatever other bullcrap she'd come out with once she was cornered.
"Uh … okay. I guess this is the point where I say that I've kinda misled you," she admitted. "See, I didn't ask you out here for … what you think I did. I'm not that kinda girl. Thank God."
Roy raised his eyebrows in a perfect approximation of naive bewilderment, smoothly stepping towards her as though to hear her better over the dull traffic noises. He even went so far as to shiver and cup either elbow with his palms to appear less threatening. It was one of the tricks Ollie had taught him, along with keeping a pocket-knife in his sock when not in uniform.
"I don't know what you mean. Well, I do, but I thought ladies preferred flowery euphemisms. I don't understand what you're talking about, though. If you didn't ask me out here for that, why did you get me alone on a balcony?"
"The balcony was just the most private place I could think of. I needed to get you on your own, y'see." She glanced into the shadows by the curtains as though checking nobody – or somebody – was there.
"Oh. I see," said Roy. Then he lunged for her.
"Hey! What-? Get the hell offa me! Yow!"
She barely had time to react before he had both arms pinned behind her back. The hold wouldn't injure her, provided she didn't struggle too much, but it would incapacitate her enough for him to manoeuvre them both back into the party. Once there, he could leave security to deal with her, plus any co-conspirators left out here. Kidnappings of Roy Harper were more his bodyguards' territory than Speedy's, and the quicker he delivered her to them, the fewer awkward questions there would be about how he'd managed to cheat his kidnappers all on his lonesome.
"Don't struggle, or you'll hurt yourself. Now come quietly and maybe the police will go easy on you. You could also help your case by thinking up some names to trade with while we take a walk back inside."
"The hell you talking about? Aw, man, the hell with this softly-softly stuff. Garth can bite my ass." With this odd assertion, the girl did something Roy wasn't expecting.
Her back exploded in his face.
He flew backwards with the force of something hitting him in the face, but when he looked back at her she'd turned and was facing him with fists raised, legs apart in a fighter's stance. Her skirt, even with the slit, wasn't made for this and strained over her other leg. In the air hung a sort of … humming noise, like that time he and Ollie went to a beekeeper's farm on the edge of some backwater place called Tinyville or Smallville or something.
"All I wanna do is talk," the girl said through a thick scowl.
"Sure you do. Right before you knock me out and stash me someplace safe so you can ransom me."
"What?"
"Don't play dumb. You're a terrible actress. I've been onto you from the start." Not true, but it wasn't good form to admit you'd been fooled by nice breasts and bee-stung lips.
"Me play dumb? Buster, you're dumber than you look – and that's saying something. I'm not here to kidnap you."
"Sure you're not," Roy sarcasmed. Then, finished with words, he bounced to the floor and back in a quick squat, snatching the pocket-knife from his sock and flicking it open in the same fluid movement.
It glinted dangerously in the dim light. Not as good as a bow and arrow, but it felt good to have some kind of weapon. He was trained in basic hand-to-hand, but his forte would always be projectiles weaponry. In a pinch he could throw the knife with almost the same accuracy as he could fire an arrow, but he was loathe to go that far just yet. You didn't let go of your upper hand that easily.
The girl eyed it with unease.
Roy took a step forward, hoping to force her into making the first move. She didn't disappoint, barrelling at him like a runaway freight train. In fact, her speed was more than he'd anticipated – almost preternatural, and accompanied by that weird humming – and he barely managed to get his arm into a block before she was on him. Her fist was stopped, but Roy realised too late that the fist wasn't what he should've been watching.
She kicked him.
It was a good kick, practiced and precise. And it was in heels. It tore a new slit up the side of her dress, and it nearly broke his wrist.
The pocket-knife sailed from his boneless fingers and skittered away across the balcony floor like at least one gun in practically every action movie ever.
He swung his other fist, but she was already in motion and ducked it.
Irritated, and starting to worry a little that this wasn't as easy as he'd thought it would be, Roy changed tack. Yet when he cocked his leg back to kick she dropped to the ground, landed on her hands and swung both feet around swiftly to sweep his legs out from under him. It was only through supreme reflexes that Roy threw himself into a hasty back flip and avoided the spiked-heel hello with the marble floor. The hand she'd numbed meant he was a little off-balance, but he'd been doing the superhero gig for too many years to fumble completely.
He came up a few feet away, cursing when he realised she'd forced him up against the torso-high, mock-Grecian pillar balustrade. The blacktop stretched treacherously forty-one stories below.
"Shit."
"Funny. None of the magazines mentioned you got a potty mouth." The girl made no move to follow him to the edge, but she didn't back off either. "I thought you said you're an open book."
"I am. I'm in the dictionary under 'pissed off'." He tried to edge around her, but she moved to block him.
"Just listen to me, will ya? I'm not here to kidnap you. And satisfying as it is to kick your behind around, I don't really wanna fight you either. I just wanna talk. I got a proposition for you."
"Proposition this." Rou lunged, feinted left and dived into a forward roll the set him up behind her, placing her between him and the balcony edge. He tried to grab her from behind, but stumbled back when he realised the source of the strange humming.
She had wings.
Giant gossamer wings, like a flying ant or a bluebottle. They were buzzing against her lower back, which was on show since they'd torn through her dress and laid her dark, shiny skin open to the world. They must've been what hit him in the face before. The sight of them was almost enough to make him falter.
Almost.
He had been in the superhero gig for a long time, and he'd met metahumans before.
Still … he had to keep her thinking he was just Roy Harper, dopey millionaire inheritor and wannabe playboy.
"What the fuck are you?"
"Really ticked, that's what. Stop ogling the merchandise."
"Merchandise? More like deformity. Did you escape from a passing freak show or something?"
Despite protestations that she didn't want to fight, she came at him again.
He ducked the thunderous right cross and tried to come up with both hands to knock her arm away, maybe get in a decent shot of his own – but she'd suckered him in. Even as he rose up, her left fist rammed into the side of his head.
Roy staggered back and fell hard, ears ringing, eyes glazing over. He'd been hit before, but somehow her little manicured fist packed more wallop than anything he'd ever encountered. He couldn't see straight. His brain was barely able to recognise that she was straddling him as he lay on his back, one hand resting lightly against his throat, the other a cocked fist pulled high.
"See this fist? It's gonna macramé your face unless you shut the hell up and start listening to me instead of mouthing off and jumping to wild-ass conclusions. Understand? My name is Bumblebee. I'm not here to kidnap you. I'm here to recruit you. I'm a Teen Titan, and I came here tonight because my teammate, Aqualad, and I wanted to ask you to join a new team called 'Titans East', and we thought you'd respond better if one of us turned up in person. We drew straws. He went to Mexico, and I came here."
Head full of fog, Roy still registered the need to maintain his secret identity. He swallowed a mouthful of spit and rasped, "Even if I believed you, why the hell would I be interested in joining a superhero team? I'm just a kid. A really rich, really handsome kid, but just a normal kid."
She curled her lip in obvious disgust. "I can't believe Robin recommended you. The guy must've been smoking something, or else he was thinking of a totally different Speedy. Like that Kid Flash. Maybe it was meant as a nickname for him. But you?" She shook her head. "I was less disappointed by my date for the Sadie Hawkins dance, and that was a real low point." Her raised fist unclenched and reached to the leg that'd been exposed by her dress ripping. From the garter there she retrieved a small yellow disc.
Roy recognised it. He had one just like it, from that time he got spirited to another dimension to face off against a creature called 'The Master of Games'.
When she flipped it open, the communicator played a recorded message. "I think you'd be well advised to approach Speedy," said Robin. "He's a brave guy; we worked together a while back in the Tournament of Heroes. You were out of commission then, Aqualad, but you must remember from your fight with him that he's not someone you tangle with lightly. Ask Aqualad for more details, Bumblebee, but if firepower is what you need, Speedy's your guy-"
She snapped the com shut. "Now do you believe me?"
Roy groaned and assessed his options. Then he closed his eyes.
Just like that, the fight was over. It was all very Pulp Fiction – quick and violent. They hadn't even gone three minutes. "You could've just said who you were at the beginning. Do you know how many times people have tried to kidnap me using sex with a pretty girl as bait?"
"Bizarrely, I don't keep up with those kinds of statistics. I'm more into stopping demon headmasters of schools for villains and generally, y'know, saving the world and junk." She waited a second, as if assessing whether or not it was safe to let him go.
Evidently landing on the conclusion that showing faith would earn faith, she released his throat and stood up.
"Aw, man. You completely totalled my dress. And I laddered my tights."
"Mm." Blood still pounding in his ears and eyes still closed to help his skewed sense of balance, Roy reached up and grabbed her, swung his feet over to snap her legs out from under her and slammed her to the ground beside him. He threw himself sideways in a thoroughly gymnastic manoeuvre, and abruptly their roles were reversed.
He opened his eyes to see her shocked expression as he sat on her knees and lightly pressed one hand against her throat while pinning her wrists above her head with the other. A sly smirk slid outwards from the centre of his lips, like a blossoming flower in a speeded-up movie.
"You haven't been in the superhero gig very long, have you? Rule One: never let your guard down." His smirk wavered. "Did you say demon headmasters?"
"So, basically, what you're asking is that I leave my home and the city I've sworn to protect, move clear across the country to live with people I barely know, fighting a fight that isn't mine, in a place where calling it 'scuzzy' is a compliment – and all based on your word and a recorded message that could easily have been doctored."
Bumblebee frowned. "Hey, Steel City is a pearl of cities."
Roy laughed. "I know Steel City, babe -"
"Don't call me babe."
He paused, looked her over, and then shrugged. "Look, I know all about Steel City. Nobody in their right mind goes there unless they're going to identify a body. From what I hear, only Gotham is nastier."
Her eyebrows were the darkly tapered kind that looked like long bee-legs stretching towards her temples. This seemed especially appropriate as she wrinkled her brow and stared past her knees at the habitually busy street. Star City wasn't famous for sleeping when the sun went down. "I guess. I'm not from there, myself, but how would I convince you to come and work with us if I described Steel as it was described to me?"
"How was it described to you?"
She considered this. "Like the excrement of a dying mollusc. That's a direct quote."
Roy boggled. He couldn't help it. Ollie had introduced him to the entire concept of vigilantism, but it'd been Roy's own choice to become a part of that world, and to carry on as Speedy even after the stress and the injuries and the sheer frustration at people walking scot-free after the horrible things he'd seen them do. It was pretty much a thankless job – only teachers and traffic wardens had it worse, he thought. More people were scared of him and Green Arrow than they were grateful, and telling yourself you were just doing it because it was the right thing to do only went so far.
Still, it'd never even occurred to him that he would protect any city but Star. This was his home. This city needed him.
Right?
Bumblebee's offer ignited something inside him. There were, after all, other places in the world that needed superheroes. Places that didn't already have one of their own…
He shook his head. That was stupid. Green Arrow needed Speedy, and Star City needed them both. It was the way it'd always been. End of story. Finito. Say goodnight, Gracie.
"And you're going there voluntarily?" He couldn't keep the incredulous note from his voice.
"Brother Blood is there," said Bumblebee.
"That's the demon headmaster, right?"
"Well … not literally a demon, but he sure as boo-yah acts like one."
"Yeah. You said. Man, you must really hate the guy to follow him to a cesspit like Steel City. What'd he do, grope you when you tried to arrest him?"
For a second she was silent. It was a charged silence, and when she spoke again, she did so softly. He had to lean close on the balustrade to hear her. The elbows of his jacket – retrieved when it became apparent they were staying out here a while – scratched on the marble. He might've been worried at anyone else sitting with legs dangling like she was, but, hey, wings.
"I used to work for him. Well, I was a student in HIVE, at least. He said I had great potential as a supervillain. Most of the kids there, they're just lackeys – grunts that do all the heavy lifting and trade punches with the superheroes. There's not as much evil cackling involved as cartoons would have you believe – but Blood said I was something special. I could've gone right to the top, made a real name for myself, maybe even have a super-nemesis of my very own. Only … something happened. Something bad.
"There was an accident at the school, somebody got hurt, and I realised that I … I just couldn't do it. I didn't want the kind of pain I was feeling … I didn't want to be the cause of it in other people. Years of being at that school, going to class and acing all my tests, and suddenly I couldn't do it anymore. I didn't have it in me to carry through on being a villain. I tried, I really did, but what was so easy before made me sick to my stomach now – I fumbled the ball at the last second, and all I ever saw at crunch time was that accident, over and over again. It got so I couldn't even look at the walls of my room without thinking about it. That place, that school, it sucks the life out of you. It doesn't train you to be evil so much as it doesn't allow you to be good on practically a molecular level. Total nervous breakdown territory. I went for months like that, until this student called 'Stone' turned up and turned Blood and HIVE upside down.
"I was all set to bolt after the school buildings were destroyed. Just disappear into the sunset where nobody would ever bother me again and I wouldn't have to make excuses for not doing the evil schtick anymore. Nobody would've noticed I was gone, I thought; they'd just assume I was crushed in the rubble or something. Nobody in that place cared enough to dig up bodies for burial. That was when I met Aqualad.
"He'd talked to Cyborg after he got back from being 'Stone', and between the two of them they figured out my heart wasn't in it anymore. So Aqualad approached me about being a mole in Blood's organisation. I was the school's star pupil; I already had Blood's trust, so I was the perfect choice. And I thought, hey, maybe I can make amends for all the stunts I already pulled in the name of the school. I'd done a lot of rotten stuff, y'see, and the thought of bringing down HIVE from the inside … it was an incredible opportunity. If I was as sorry as I kept telling myself I was, I couldn't pass it up. I mean, me, Bumblebee, a Teen Titan? Not exactly of the predictable.
"So I did it, and the more I learned about what Blood actually planned for his students, the more I wanted to stop him. Because make no mistake, he's a dangerous bastard and he needs to be stopped. Some of the material I uncovered …" She trailed off, then carried on as if someone had pressed fast-forward and hastily skipped to the end of her diatribe. "So here I am."
She spread her palms, much as Roy had done earlier in the evening to make her feel more comfortable: look, carrying no weapons.
Except that she was, and by showing him her hands she was showing him two really good reasons not to mess with her. "Tracking him on a national scale. I got found out, obviously, so now I don't have to hide anymore. I can be a real Titan instead of just a lil' spy. I can get my life back."
"So this is about revenge," Roy said evenly. He didn't want any part of a revenge scheme. They were messy, and rarely turned out well.
"No, it's about stopping a psychotic criminal with enough firepower and mindless troops at his disposal to take out an entire state."
"And the reason you've come to me instead of Superman is…" He couldn't wait to hear this one. What'd she think he was: suicidal? If this Brother Blood dude was a big gun, then you fought him with the biggest gun there was.
Bumblebee levelled a fierce look at him, mouth a flat line in a face as closed as a fist. She was prettier when she didn't frown, but he was fast getting the impression that frowning was her neutral state. He should probably have felt privileged she held off so long on his account when they first met.
"Robin."
Just that word. Just that name. Yet it sent a frizzing of respect zinging into the part of Roy's brain that could've been called 'Speedy Central'. Such was the trust he placed in Robin that it didn't even occur to him to feel angry the Boy Wonder was trading his secret identity with people he didn't know. After all, he'd never told Robin who he was under the mask. That was all Robin's own work. That he hadn't used it for nefarious purposes said a lot about his principles, if not for his powers of deduction.
"You can call him to confirm if you like. Use your own communicator if mine's too questionable." Bumblebee narrowed her eyes at him. "You don't trust me, do you? Once a turncoat, always a turncoat, right?" She went to this statement quickly, like Clint Eastwood reaching for his gun at high noon – like she'd been expecting him to say it and said it herself when he wasn't prompt enough with his part of the script.
He'd be lying if he denied it, so he didn't. Turncoats were even worse news than revenge schemes – even pretty ones.
Perhaps especially the pretty ones.
"Who was it?"
"Huh?"
"Who got hurt to turn you sour on being a supervillain if you were so good at it?"
She paused before replying. "Just some teacher who was nice to me. In HIVE, they didn't go in for that niceness crap. You didn't get no votes for Miss Congeniality there. I used to fight a lot with Jinx, this other girl who was top student before me. And when I say fight, I mean fight. One day, we were having this test in class, and we kicked off like usual but … but things got out of hand and he got … hurt."
"The teacher?"
"Yeah." She looked away. "I … really liked that guy. Not like crushing on him or wanting to jump his bones, but … I just liked him. He looked after me, even though I told him I didn't need no looking after. He taught me a lot, and not just how to arm a bomb and cave in a person's lungs with a good kick. He was … sometimes I thought he was the only human guy in that place."
An image of Green Arrow floated to the top of Roy's mind, teaching some young punk how to string a bow and tie a tourniquet. And deeper, ghosting across the roots of his brain, was a half-lidded memory of running a temperature and being fed chicken soup, then thinking he'd hallucinated it all because whenever he mentioned it Ollie harrumphed into his beard and changed the subject.
"You're asking a lot." Before she could answer, Roy straightened and pointed upwards. "Could you get us onto the roof without anyone seeing?"
"What?" Confusion pulled her shoulders back.
"There are seventy stories in this building. Think you could get us past the remaining twenty-nine without being caught?"
"Why?"
"I have a spare uniform stashed up there, and I won't be missed for a while yet. We're going on patrol."
Behind them, beyond drawn curtains and an idiotically flimsy door, the party jingled.
Bumblebee's frown deepened. She looked from him to the street below, and then craned her neck in the direction of the roof. Her bottom lip stuck out in thought, and her wings beat experimentally. "Okay. Hold out your arms like you're flapping them, and don't get any funny ideas."
Roy changed while she kept her back turned. He offered her his crumpled suit as an alternative to her heels and ballgown, but she refused without giving a reason, and they headed deeper into the heart of the city.
Flying was an interesting experience. Someone capable of it had carried him only once before, when Green Lantern chased an intergalactic criminal to their doorstep and they helped him make the arrest. Green Arrow got a commendation from the Lantern Corps for that one.
Bumblebee was different. With Green Lantern, the journey was smooth. Now Roy could feel every wingbeat reverberating through him, and the grip of her hands under his arms was steely where Lantern's Ring-bubble had been smooth. It made the experience both unnerving and exhilarating – more real somehow, like a sepia photograph suddenly painted with colour. He could smell the stink of smog, beer and vegetable oil when they passed over Manny's Bar and Grille.
He directed her into a notorious neighbourhood that was rife with crime, but nothing so serious he might have her life on his conscience. He wanted to test her a little, not kill her. She complied wordlessly, and from his position Roy couldn't read her expression, but he'd bet his allowance she was still frowning.
Luck was with him. Just off Tepper Avenue, in the little alley between Holt Street and Kinsella Way, a gang of thugs had cornered a young couple.
The couple wore expensive clothes that made Roy wonder what the hell they were doing down this way, but he didn't ponder the thought overmuch. The girl was on her knees, hair mussed, snivelling fearfully into the back of her hand. The guy half stood in front of her with one hand on her shoulder, teeth bared like a cornered animal that knows it has no way of escape. The thugs weren't part of any official operation Roy knew. One or two barely looked older than him, and stood all wrong. No formal training, just what they'd seen on Saturday Wrestling. The obvious leader held a red clutch purse in his massive fist.
The situation had all the hallmarks of a night at Manny's that'd ended just as the couple happened by. How they'd gone from that to this was anybody's guess, but seven against two merited his attention – and Bumblebee's.
"There," he said, pointing.
"Would it be totally inappropriate for me to say 'Titans, go'?"
"Pretty much."
"Thought so, but you can't blame a girl for trying. You got a plan?"
"Kick their asses and save the day."
"I like it. Simple, yet effective. Might want to work on the fine details, though."
Roy half turned his head. Green Arrow's modus operendi was 'jump first, cuss and ask questions later'. An arrow was an arrow no matter how you played it, and thinking fast was a given in this job. The situation below was hardly complicated – though it had the potential to get messy if they didn't act fast. Could she have lost her nerve already?
He'd never seen her grin, but there was something that almost sounded like one in her voice. "I got me an idea, if you're up for it, Sassafras."
Less than sixty seconds later, the leader of the little gang heard something that made him look up.
"Hey, bozos! Death from above!"
Speedy dropped on them, like a burgundy and yellow bomb, strafing the ground with trick arrows.
Smoke billowed up, obfuscating the scene and sending all seven thugs and the young couple into violent coughing fits. Roy landed in the centre, breathing mask hooked over his mouth and nose. He heard a zinging to his left, like an arrow in flight even though he hadn't fired another one
"My hand!" the leader yelped.
That was Roy's cue. He moved toward the young couple, hustling them away. They were confused and scared, but submitted to his directions. Apparently anything was better than staying put.
Once they were at the mouth of the alley he let them rest against the wall to get their breath back. The air out here was clearer, if you didn't count exhaust fumes. One or two cars whizzed by. A battered old Ford Mondeo pulled up across the street and the driver got out to holler if they were okay. Roy recognised one of the barmaids from Manny's and knew her as a decent person, if a little rangy – someone who wouldn't sneak on a guy in a burgundy suit if he were bleeding in her basement and Tony Carccioni's heavies were looking for him.
Since she hadn't noticed him, Roy faded into the shadows, leaving the young couple in the care of this concerned citizen. The red clutch purse in the mugged woman's hands hadn't escaped his notice, though he hadn't put it there.
He returned to where he'd left the curtailed mugging, but it was already almost over. The smoke from his arrows was dissipating fast, revealing the skirmish underneath.
He'd fought Bumblebee, but watching her with someone else slammed something into Roy's brain: this was entirely new territory for him.
If violence was a language in Speedy's world, then everyone he knew shared a common syntax, a common grammar: eye gouge, groin kick, bone snap.
Hers was a different lexicon. There was no middle ground to her, he saw – she fought with all she had, every single time, whether she faced a practiced vigilante or a two-bit thug with veins full of Jack Daniels. She fought like she was trying to prove something, and not just to him. It gave her a fire that not even the sheen of sweat on her skin could put out, and would've been a little disturbing were it not for the way it made her eyes smoulder like small flames bursting from an ashy log.
It showed up time and again that evening. They stopped another mugging over on Auster Street, and saved a drunk girl from being raped against the back wall of Evanovich's Box of Delights, an unpleasant bar not far from Manny's. Bumblebee slugged the guy so hard nearly broke his jaw, but pulled back before Roy could act on any impulse to restrain her. Fury radiated from her, but quickly morphed into gentleness as she tended to the girl, cradling her to her chest like a broken-winged bird. In fact, the change was so fast, Roy almost checked himself for whiplash.
After dropping the would-be rapist at the police station, and the girl into her mother's distressed arms, Roy decided they should take a break. He directed Bumblebee onto a flat rooftop full of air vents and the smell of other people's cooking.
"Nice city," she commented.
"It has its moments."
"I noticed." She stroked her knuckles, which were bloodied. "Real nice ambience to it. Is that why you wanted me to go patrolling with you, or were you just testing me on my technique? Y'know, to see if I'm worthy enough for the illustrious Speedy to work with."
Roy didn't miss the mockery draped over the words, like an artistically placed silk cloth in a minimalist sitting room.
Patrolling was a good way of clearing his mind – difficult to think about anything more than survival when you have goons trying to take your ass off with hot lead – and even Bumblebee's presence had become part of Star City's rhythmic thrum as they flitted about. It had almost been possible to imagine she was meant to be there, just like him, and to forget her real purpose. Yet the more he tried not to think about it, the more the thoughts popped and squirmed into his mind like gleeful and brightly-coloured worms.
Roy could feel a strange kind of pressure bearing down on him, pushing at him, pushing at his world and squeezing it under the bright light of a day that was still hours away. Instead of facing it, however, he turned to Bumblebee, shouldered his bow and folded his arms. There was a cut on his lower left arm. The pain of it sharpened his senses – and his mind.
"So tell me – and tell me honestly, no sales pitches or anything – why is working as part of a team better than just breaking from Green Arrow to go solo? I've been in this gig a lot longer than you, so, supposing I left him at all, why should I then suddenly demote myself from 'partner' to 'cog in a machine' to work with a newbie?"
Her eyes burned into his. Eventually she said, "It's too easy to be carelessly cruel because you got power and other people don't; too easy to think other people don't matter much. Normal people, I mean. People who don't wear tights and prance about in masks and kitschy costumes." She looked briefly away, towards the horizon over the cityscape, before looking back at him and holding his gaze through his mask. "Too easy to start thinking that ideas like basic right and wrong don't apply to you. You spend all your time making decisions on behalf of others, keeping them safe because you can, because you think the need keeping safe, you get to thinking that maybe … maybe you are better; maybe you should follow different rules than they do. That's when the whole heroics gig gets ugly."
Roy nodded, but it wasn't anything he hadn't heard before – even if Ollie had only been as eloquent as an elephant with a stubbed toe about it. He told her so, and could've sworn he saw the right corner of her mouth look like it sort of maybe kind of wanted to approach a half-smile. Maybe.
"We're a team because folk need protecting, but also because we do. We need each other. Heroes – other kids who do what we do, make the same kinds of decisions, run the same risks. It's a hella lot of responsibility when we ain't even got hormones out of the way yet. As a team, we keep each other grounded better than we can do alone. Or with partners," she added slyly. "If one of us trips up, there's others there for support and stuff. There's always someone there if we need it."
"Sounds to me like you just can't let go of your comfort blankets."
She pursed her lips, all hint of a smile evaporated like an empty canteen in the dust bowl. "That's oversimplifying things."
"I'm a simple kind of guy."
Her eyes narrowed to match her mouth. "Hm."
"Listen, there's an all-night diner about a block from here. My treat."
"Excuse me?"
"Aren't you hungry?"
"I ain't exactly dressed for success, Sassafras."
Roy shrugged. "I do it all the time. The people who run the place don't bat an eyelid, there's a quiet corner where you can't be seen from the street, the walls are covered with posters of old movies and the food has flashy names like The Julie Newmar Special and stuff." He couldn't explain how he knew (knew!) she'd like the place.
Bumblebee stared at him a second longer and then made a gesture that meant 'sure, why not'.
They talked little while they ate. He had a Tom Sellick Club Sandwich and she went for the Diana Dawes Special, which was mainly eggs, bacon and fried bread. Anywhere else it would've been called an all-day breakfast. She grabbed a fistful of ketchup sachets but only used half. Grease dribbled down her chin as she ate, and she wiped it away, but not before a traitorous voice piped up from the back of Roy's brain that she looked adorable like that.
It pulled him up short. Adorable? This ratty, bloodstained, short-tempered girl who'd knee him in the crotch given half a chance? Obviously being around society girls had fritzed his radar.
"So was I right?"
"Huh?" She looked up at him, last forkful of bacon halfway to her mouth.
"Great place, huh?"
"It's okay. We have a couple just as nice in Steel City," she added slyly.
He raised an eyebrow over his mask.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She scowled at him.
They eventually returned to the party, stopping only briefly for Roy to change back into his tux.
Bumblebee waited with her back turned. She didn't try to peek – not even once. Her shoulder-blades were fixed like iron beneath her wings and her neck was a tense line. Roy noted the compulsive swallowing, but forgot about it when the door to the stairwell suddenly burst open.
"Fu-" he started, grabbing at his pants.
"Master Roy!" snapped a familiar accented voice.
"-ck." Roy could feel himself colouring up. "Heike!"
A roly-poly woman in a maid's outfit stood in the doorway to the stairwell. She was almost comical in appearance, uniform straining over her bosom, save for the thunderous expression that drew her eyebrows together like a pair of caterpillars battling to the death over the last lettuce leaf. "Master Roy, I have everywhere for you been looking!"
Uh-oh. "You have?"
Heike took in Bumblebee and his state of undress at a glance. At once an expression of resigned disappointment overtook her features. "The auction is nearly finished, Master Roy."
Whoops. He'd forgotten all about it while patrolling. "Uh… Did anybody miss me?"
"Master Oliver was most displeased at your absence."
Damn it. 'Most displeased' meant Ollie was pissed and Roy was FUBAR – not to mention … this. "Look, Heike, it's not what it looks like."
"And what does it look like, Master Roy?" She always did have a horrible way of putting the onus back on him when he'd done wrong. He couldn't ever remember Heike raising her voice, not even when he was a kid and so new to this life he didn't know any way to react except tantrums.
Roy paused. Bumblebee's wings were still on show, and despite their relative nudity, there was nothing erotic about the scene. His Speedy costume was tucked away, but Bumblebee's bloodstains proclaimed to the world there'd been some sort of rumble.
He took a breath. "Heike, this is -"
"Karen," Bumblebee cut in.
Roy glanced at her. Was that her real name, or a fake one? He doubted it was real, since her wings were all exposed and she didn't know Heike.
Heike stuck out her lower lip. Roy recognised he action as indicating deep thought.
Heike had been his nursemaid, and then his governess until his schooling requirements eclipsed her teaching knowledge. Ollie had kept her on as a stern influence over his ward, but these days she worked only part-time, and was due to retire at the end of the year so she could return to Stockholm. Roy had watched as her hands became clawed with arthritis, though she staunchly refused to give up her uniform, despite it being designed for a much younger woman. Somehow it skirted ridiculous and instead came out as matronly with an edge of 'don't cross me or I'll slap the tartar off your teeth, no matter your age'.
"You are Master Roy's little friend?"
Bumblebee shrugged. "Sure. But I ain't no friend of Little Master Roy." She raised her pinkie and Heike laughed.
"You are different than his usual little friends."
Bumblebee slid him a sideways look and Roy suddenly became very interested in his buttons. Of course, Heike knew all about Green Arrow and Speedy. She'd patched them both up more than once, and played the role of hostage once when he was ten and still young enough to tremble at the thought of losing a loved one to this life. He still trembled, but not where anyone could see it, and his list of loved ones had narrowed to just her and Ollie – perhaps even just her on bad days, when Ollie was throwing his weight about to remind Roy who was Hero and who was Sidekick.
"We should get back inside," he said roughly.
"I'd agree, but since I think I need something that doesn't scream 'I'm so violent I belong on HBO' before I can blend in with that crowd," Bumblebee gestured to her skeleton of an outfit, "I reckon I'll make tracks. You can contact me when … when you contact me." Her wings buzzed. Either she'd done her homework about Heike, or she just didn't care who knew her identity. Perhaps she didn't have any loved ones to protect outside the superhero community, and could afford to be flip.
Roy honestly didn't know which was more likely, even after an evening in her company. Bumblebee presented herself plainly, but she was difficult to read. She said more than she said.
"Wait," he found himself saying. He only just refrained from adding 'Don't go,' instead turning to Heike, who rolled her eyes but nodded.
"Miss Karen, coming with me and some alternative clothes I shall find you." Heike did that sometimes – reordered her words like some simpleton just off the boat, when Roy knew she could speak perfect English. Secrets abounded in their house, and she kept a few of her own that even he didn't know, so he never questioned it, though he sometimes wondered why.
Bumblebee, on the other hand, had no idea Heike's English could be as flawless as a private schoolgirl's. She just eased herself past her into the stairwell, apparently nonchalant, but Roy could see she was on her guard. Presenting her back demonstrated trust more in Roy's word than Heike's actions.
He'd noticed it as the evening wore on, but now Roy's perceptions of her sharpened. A significant air followed Bumblebee wherever she went: bad news for bad guys, worse temper, great right hook. And suddenly he remembered how she cradled that girl in her arms with the same hands that he broken a guy's nose like it was nothing.
Everything was suddenly sharp and hideous and multidimensional. Roy pushed it away, but Heike's eyes sought him out.
There were questions there, but lines around them. Heike was getting old. When she went back to Stockholm it would be just him and Ollie and a stew pot of crap he didn't want to think about right now.
"It's all right," he said, though he wasn't sure which of them he was talking to.
Bumblebee paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "You're really attached to your mentor, ain't you?"
Yeah. "Maybe."
"I was, too." She looked hard at him. "You ever hear of Fixit?"
"No."
"No. Nobody has, anymore."
Roy thought he could smell chicken soup. "Was he your teacher?"
"No. Fixit wasn't my teacher. I only met him a short while ago. He's my teacher's replacement." Her words were obviously carefully chosen, with hidden meaning that made Roy wonder how many other skeletons she had in her closet – and how many she wouldn't tell people about to make them join her team.
"Uh…" Roy made a show of pulling out a mirror to fix his hair. "Heike will get you some clothes."
Heike just rolled her eyes again. She knew him too well.
There was a moment where none of them moved – the empty silence between two beats. Then Bumblebee broke it by asking, "You got an answer already, Sassafras?"
Roy said nothing, only turned away from her to stare out across the city – Star city, his city – once more.
He heard Heike bustle her inside and Bumblebee ask, "Do I wanna know why they got spare women's clothing hanging around?"
It was leftover from those few times Ollie needed a date to maintain his society man cover that wouldn't freak if he vanished halfway through the evening and could back him up in a pinch. It'd be a lot easier if he hadn't had his face slapped by most female crime fighters. Pantyhose itched and Roy hated stuffing socks down his top to make cleavage.
Heike returned a few minutes later, clicking her tongue.
"Master Oliver is waiting for you."
"Five more minutes won't kill him."
She came to stand next to him. "That young lady. You are going away with her." It wasn't a question.
"I never said that!"
"No."
"Did she-?"
"She said nothing, either. She is a strong girl. Clear-eyed. Good hips for childbirth."
Roy nearly choked. "She's just a -" He stopped. He'd been about to say 'friend', but he wasn't sure that as what Bumblebee was. If he joined her team she'd be his teammate. If he didn't she'd be just another teen hero, trying to make it in a world of super-adults – except they'd trust her even less because of her history. "She's just some girl I met tonight. Nothing happened and nothing's going to happen."
Heike eyed him doubtfully.
"I mean it!"
She didn't look convinced.
As sticky moments went, this was a full scale toffee pudding. It was one thing for Heike to know about him dressing in tights to play superhero, dressing his wounds when he came home and keeping child services at bay when a teenage boy had to go to ER for the third time that year. But he really didn't want to discuss his sex life with his old nursemaid.
His thoughts inevitably strayed back to Bumblebee's offer and he gritted his teeth.
"I'm not going away, Heike. Who'd protect this city without me around?" Like a tongue constantly seeking out a sore tooth, he thought back to what he'd seen on patrol.
"Master Oliver was playing games with bows and arrows long before you arrived."
"It's too much for one person. There are too many people who need protecting."
"And who would protect you, Master Roy?"
He startled at that. It was far too close to what Bumblebee had said. He narrowed his eyes and wished he was still wearing his mask. "I don't need protecting."
"Everybody thinks that."
"Yeah? Well I know it."
"I am sure you do. Just as you know Master Oliver is tapping his foot waiting for you." She lowered her voice. "I have watched you grow, Master Roy. You have turned from a squeaky-voiced boy into a strong and capable young man before my eyes. In some ways, I could not be prouder of you if you were my own son."
Roy couldn't help but swell with pride, but deflated at her next words.
"And yet sometimes I could cheerfully knock your head against a brick wall. I think it is the only way you would see the writing on it."
He really wished he was still wearing his mask. "You throwing me out, Heike?"
"I would never do such a thing, but a mother bird sometimes must drive her chicks from the nest to prove to them they are able to fly on their own."
"Yeah. And sometimes those chicks fall straight out of the tree and go smoosh on the ground. Or get eaten by cats. Or pecked to death by other birds. Or land on electrical wires and get barbequed. Or -"
"I believe this metaphor is gory enough now, Master Roy." She didn't sound disapproving. "I cannot make decisions for you. Neither can Master Oliver, or your young lady friend. Or this city."
Roy nodded.
"You will do what is best for you. That is important at your age. You have time. Youth builds a universe with self at the centre, and that is as it should be. Adulthood is brutal in its squashing of selfishness." She shivered. "As Master Oliver would say, it is chillier than a bucket of penguin spit up here. Please come inside, Master Roy."
"Yeah. I will. Just…" Roy faltered. "Just give me a minute, okay?"
"He will come looking for you eventually. And he will not be pleased."
"I know. Stall him for as long as you can, would you?"
She sighed and ruffled his hair. "I do not know why I put up with you."
"Thanks, Heike."
She left him, but at the mouth of the stairwell paused and said, "She likes you. I could tell."
"What?" The remark threw him.
"When she stopped to talk, she looked at your behind. Just briefly, which is worse than for a long time." Heike tapped the side of her nose. "As I said, good childbearing hips. I always dreamed of someday becoming a grandmother." Then she went inside, leaving Roy to gape after her.
His brain skipped here and there like a dud kernel of popcorn, agitated but unable to explode – or a shaken snow globe. He'd been perfectly happy in his little world – or, not happy exactly, but getting by. Now this new option had come along and there were snowflakes all over the place, whirling around, not knowing where to settle, what to think, how to react. And bits of glitter, too –tiny bits of secret, shiny excitement.
Roy shook his head. He respected Robin and the Teen Titans, but that didn't mean he wanted to be one.
Still, operating with others against the Master of Games had been a rush, and knowing someone other than Ollie had his back hadn't been as bad as he thought.
Once again he saw the would-be rape victim, Bumblebee descending on muggers like a force of nature, and then chowing down on eggs and bacon in a run-down café. A society girl would never let grease run down her chin, or run into a dark alley to kick butt, or tear her dress just so she could throw a perfect snap kick.
Bumblebee didn't belong in the world of high society and richissime. She didn't suit the name Karen. She'd played at dress-up tonight, but it was obvious that wasn't her thing. After only an evening in her company, he knew Bumblebee was a part of Speedy's world more than she would ever fit into Roy's.
He stared at his city, and his city stared back.
Both of them wondered what he would decide.
Fin.
Side-flings, Homages and Downright Rip-offs
"The Kasnia War Relief Effort?"
-- Kasnia is a fictional country that appears in the Bruce Timm DC Animated Universe, most notably JLU. According to Wikipedia, it appears to be a Balkan country that is wracked by civil war between the Northern and Southern factions of the country. The Northern Kasnians are composed of tribes and have the appearance of a guerrilla movement. The Southern Kasnians appear to be a regular military and there is some evidence that they are the nation's "legitimate" government. The southern government is an authoritarian hereditary monarchy.
Sometimes glass glitters more than diamonds because it has more to prove.
-- Lifted from a The Truth by Terry Pratchett.
"I think she could see she couldn't even last three rounds with a fruit fly."
-- Courtesy of Whistler in BtVS.
Star City wasn't famous for sleeping when the sun went down.
-- I have absolutely no idea where Green Arrow operates in the comics, though I did research a lot before writing this. As such, following the habit of naming cities in toonverse, Star City seemed as good a name as any.
Say goodnight, Gracie.
-- Say Goodnight, Gracie is a one-man play by Rupert Holmes.
Just off Tepper Avenue, in the little alley between Holt Street and Kinsella Way, a gang of thugs had cornered a young couple.
-- Side-fling to my bookshelf, upon which rest the tomes of my favourite authors. Tepper - Sherri Tepper (Plague of Angels, The Fresco), Holt - Tom Holt (You Don't Have to be Evil to Work Here But it Helps, Who's Afraid of Beowulf?) and Kinsella - Sophie Kinsella (The Secret Dreamworld of a Shopoholic, The Undomestic Goddess).
They stopped another mugging over on Auster Street, and saved a drunk girl from being raped against the back wall of Evanovich's Box of Delights.
-- Auster - Paul Auster (The New York Trilogy, In the Country of Last Things) and Evanovich - Janet Evanovich (the Stephanie Plum series, Metro Girl).
The more he tried not to think about it, the more the thoughts popped and squirmed into his mind like gleeful and brightly-coloured worms.
-- From The Fresco by Sherri S. Tepper.
Damn it. 'Most displeased' meant Ollie was pissed and Roy was FUBAR.
-- FUBAR – Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.
"I think I need something that doesn't scream 'I'm so violent I belong on HBO'."
-- Boosted from The Book of Fours by Nancy Holder.