I don't own Young Justice. Dedicated to Rocks. Today is the day, indeed.
WHERE THE DAYLIGHT BEGINS
April 14th, 2008, 3:16 PM – Star City (Haight-Ashbury neighborhood)
Roy stands in the foyer of Ollie's townhouse, unplugged headphones nestled over his ears, pretending not to hear the argument Ollie and Dinah are having upstairs.
"It's too soon, Oliver," Dinah's voice is saying, hushed yet impassioned. "He's only just recovered physically, and we have no idea how he's coping otherwise. He needs more time before he's thrown back into the deep end."
"Too much time was the problem in the first place," Ollie is arguing back. "He needs to get back in the field, fire a few arrows, get his mind off what he's been through."
"We don't even know what he's been through," Dinah presses. "Surely you can find a way to distract him without putting him right back in harm's way? It's not like– "
" –this is Roy we're talking about, Dinah. He wouldn't want to be mollycoddled. He's ready. He says he's ready, and I'm prepared to take him at his word."
"He's been back two weeks," Dinah replies, her frustration audible even through the floor and Roy's silent headphones. "Two weeks, after being missing for three months, one of which he doesn't even remember. I know you're eager to put this behind you, but even a League member wouldn't be back on active duty at this point, not without a psych evaluation and an extensive debrief, not to mention – "
Roy doesn't hear the rest, having slipped out the door and out onto Haight Street. He knows how this will go. Ollie will cave to Dinah, in the end – he always does – and if Roy has to spend one more day cooped up with the worried whispers behind his back and the guilty looks that twist into fake smiles every time he walks into a room, he's going to break something. What was the point of busting him out of Luthor's prison just to put him on house arrest? He needs air, but more importantly, he needs to get away from his guardians for a while.
He catches a bus on the corner of Divisadero before they even notice he's gone. Maybe he'll take a run through Star Memorial Park; maybe he'll go peoplewatch around Lloyd Lake. Maybe he'll just walk all the way to the ocean and watch the waves until the sun goes down. Sure, he can't have his bow back yet, but one way or another he's not spending another afternoon fletching arrows they won't let him shoot.
His phone rings as he's getting off the bus, on the edge of the park. Declining the call, he opens a text message instead.
out for a walk, he types to Dinah. not kidnapped, promise.
He walks along the edge of the park for a good ten minutes before his phone vibrates again. As he retrieves it from his pocket, he can imagine Dinah at the kitchen window, typing and retyping her response, trying to choose the right words to bring him home, and feels a twinge of guilt – he knows she's just worried. She's not trying to keep him captive, just trying to protect him. And after all, it was his fault she spent the last three months in a perpetual state of anxiety. He can't really blame her for wanting to keep him in her sight.
Be safe, her message reads simply. Call if you need a ride.
And that's it. Breathing a sigh of relief, Roy sends back a quick 'okay,' plugs in his headphones, picks a radio station and sets out into the park. It's a beautiful afternoon, clear and cool, and the area is relatively quiet. In the light breeze, the long shadows of the trees quiver a little, and the smell of cut grass fills the air. Roy feels something inside himself uncoil just a little (nothing like three months in a basement to reawaken your appreciation for the outdoors).
The sun is just beginning to set and Roy has almost reached the western edge of the park when he notices that someone is following him.
At first, he thinks he must be paranoid. There aren't a lot of major paths through Star Memorial; the person behind him could just be following the same one at the same pace by coincidence. But when Roy tries speeding up and slowing down, and the stranger stays the same twenty paces behind him, he begins to think it's not just in his head.
He changes course, away from the archery ranges and toward the soccer fields by the shore. The turn lets him glimpse his stalker in his peripheral vision – a man, trim and dark-skinned, maybe one or two inches shorter than him, walking with head down and hood up. Between the angle and the jacket, Roy can't get a good look at his face, but increases his pace as he tries to remember if Murphy Windmill is on the north or the south end of the soccer pitches. Inside his pocket, he checks to make sure the GPS switch on his phone is set to 'on.'
It's probably nothing. It's probably just some guy who thinks he looks like an easy target – teenager, headphones on, alone in the park – and is waiting for the right opportunity to mug him. But that's what he thought about the LexCorp goon who stabbed him with a tranquilizer needle in an alleyway three months ago, so he isn't exactly inclined to wait and see.
"Right," Roy mutters as the windmill comes into view at the top of the hill, perched on the cliffside that divides the park from the ocean. "Let's talk, then."
He makes for the structure, keeping his pace relaxed and surreptitiously unplugging his headphones so he can hear the man's footfalls. He's sure now that this isn't random, that he is being followed, and not particularly subtly either. In some ways that's reassuring; no trained LexCorp henchman would be this blatant, so it probably is some lowlife who's made a poor choice in a mark.
Finally, Roy is cutting between the windmill and the groundskeeper's house, stepping up onto the cement foundation of the iconic structure. At the last minute he takes a sharp left and slips behind the far wall of the base of the windmill, quickly pushing his headphones down around his neck and assuming a defensive stance in the shadows. Footsteps, now more hesitant, announce the approach of his pursuer, and he takes in an anticipatory breath.
The moment the man's sneaker appears around the corner, Roy lunges forward, seizes him by the front of his jacket, and slams him back against the concrete wall of the windmill, feeling a momentary thrill as his muscle memory kicks in. The stranger lets out a soft, surprised noise but to Roy's confusion, doesn't make any effort to fight back as he's pushed back into the wall, which leaves Roy disoriented with nothing to counter or parry. Furthermore, the sudden movement has dislodged his hood, and Roy is again confused to see that it's not really a man at all, more of a boy – he can't possibly be older than Roy's sixteen years – with green-grey eyes and a long, straight nose and cheekbones that could cut glass. Roy can't help but feel he's seen that face somewhere before.
"Why are you following me?" he demands after he's shaken his momentary disorientation, keeping pressure on the stranger's windpipe; he can feel the boy's Adam's apple bob against his forearm when he swallows.
"My apologies," says the stranger. His voice is strange, too – soft and coarse at once, with a faint accent Roy can't place. "I was sent to ensure you did not come to harm. I did not mean to – "
" – sent by who?" Roy demands, shoving him a little more firmly into the windmill, which is probably unnecessary; the kid clearly isn't here to fight him.
The dark-skinned boy flicks his eyes left and right, scanning the area for something, onlookers, probably. He seems less shaken than he ought to be about being jumped on a deserted cliffside.
"The League," he murmurs, looking back to Roy. "I did not mean to interfere with your..."
But he trails off, looking frustrated, as though he's lost the word he meant to say, and suddenly Roy remembers where he's seen him before. With a sigh, he steps back and releases the boy, looking him up and down one more time just to be sure.
"You're Aqualad," he says as the stranger rubs his neck where Roy's forearm had been a moment before. Roy hadn't noticed it in the shadows, but there are three thin, flared slits on each side of his neck – gills, presumably. "Aquaman's new protégé."
He knows a few things about this guy – signed on as Aquaman's sidekick half a year ago or so, spent a few months training and learning protocol down in Atlantis, started doing his first surface missions only a few weeks before Roy took his involuntary vacation. He feels a flash of irritation – he should have expected that Ollie or Dinah would send someone to tail him if they weren't going to do it themselves, but did they really have to send the new kid?
"Yes," the boy – Aqualad – says, nodding. "Forgive me. It was not my intention to cause you alarm. I had hoped you would not notice my presence at all, actually."
Roy takes another step back, letting out a breath and cursing his still-hammering heartbeat.
"Yeah, well, you're pretty shitty at being stealthy," he says.
"You are probably right," says Aqualad. He opens his mouth as if to say something more, then shuts it, shaking his head and looking away.
"Sorry," Roy mumbles, sensing he's been rude. It's not like it's the kid's fault he got orders to babysit.
"No," says the other boy, looking back up at him and smiling. It's a strange smile, one that's conveyed more with his eyes than with his mouth, but it seems sincere, if a little sheepish. "You are right. I am still working on my – well, I do not know the English word but – walking is still less natural for me than I would like."
"Land legs," Roy supplies. Aqualad nods graciously and there's a moment of odd silence during which he looks past Roy, out toward the ocean. It's hard to tell if he's uncomfortable or just thinking. Roy fights conflicting urges to ditch the kid and just head home, or to do the polite thing and ask.
"You uh...you okay there?" Roy asks finally, when he can't muster enough sullenness to leave.
"I am sorry," says Aqualad quickly, looking away from the coast and back to Roy. "I – this will sound strange but...I have never seen the sister ocean before."
"The Pacific?" Roy asks to clarify, and gets a nod in response. He stares out at it for a while, at the sun sinking toward the water, tinging the blue wavetips with gold. "Yeah, it's...it's something."
Particularly right now. Even he can't deny the beauty of his home coast at sunset.
He turns back. The reflection of the sky is glimmering in the other boy's bright eyes – he still hasn't looked away. And maybe it's the scenery or the fresh air or the fact that Roy hasn't spoken to anyone under the age of thirty in months, but he can't seem to hold onto his usual hostility.
"You wanna get a closer look?" Roy asks, hands in his pockets as he jerks his head toward the ocean.
Wordlessly, the Atlantean nods.
Feeling oddly pleased, Roy turns to the north and starts walking.
"I know a way down," he says as the other boy falls into step beside him. "C'mon, I'll show you."