Author's Note: So this is slightly crappy but I felt like posting it before editing. When I do finish editing this chapter, I will update this chapter. Onwards to the reading!
Deadshot wasn't quite sure of when and why he had fallen in love with the vigilante The Raven.
It couldn't have been her looks; she always had her face concealed under a full face mask that was, more than likely, always equipped with some sort of air-filter, just in case she ran into the Scarecrow or one of his minions.
It might have been the witty banter she always exchanged with him when they fought - no, fought was an ugly word, incomparable to what they did. They moved in a fluid, violent dance that usually ended with him missing his target or escaping while she reached for a pair of handcuffs she always had on the utility belt that encircled her waist.
It might have been when he found one of her fists pointed in a slightly south of his face in order to aim her new wrist-mounted launchers that were most-likely loaded with a non-deadly ammo.
No. No, it must have been when she had said, after he lifted his hands into the air, "Do you like them? They were inspired by my favorite mercenary." He could hear the smile in her voice, as if she was proud of her new weapon, even if he couldn't see it.
He always pretended, when he relived that scene in his head, that she wasn't pointing them in his face. That he was her favorite something, even if it was her favorite mercenary. That they were standing next to each other in some sort of comfortable room and she'd had the wrist-launchers set on some sort of surface, proud to show him. That he could smile at her and close his eyes before slowly lifting the mask and pressing his lips to hers. And then reality would strike back and he'd be right where he was before he indulged in his little fantasy. His train of thought would then lead him to what had happened in the reality of the day.
When she had said those words in reality, he didn't lift her mask. He'd blinked and, quick as the Flash, grabbed her hands, pinned them so the launchers were pointed at her own chest, and kissed where her lips would have been if her mask wasn't in the way.
She'd managed to pull away and launched something at him from her new weapons. Then everything had gone dark.
He'd woken up some time later tied to a chair on a rooftop with the sensation of his arms falling asleep and of tingling on his lips.
The vigilante had taken her mask off and kissed him while he was unconscious.
Floyd often felt smug, knowing Batman - the great hypocrite that he was - wouldn't have approved of his sometimes-sidekick kissing one of the bad guys.
Unlike Batman, the Raven didn't see just black and white when it came to justice and right and wrong; she could see in every shade that the universe had to offer.
Maybe that was why he had come to love her.
There was always the knowledge that if Batman hadn't gotten her first, she could have been by his side.
Maybe that was why he hated Batman so much.