Somewhere along the line Oracle had fallen into the role of unofficial mentor to the Red Hood. And somehow she found herself more equipped to deal with Jason than most of the other bats.
As much as Barbara might care about Dick, he was emotionally a very needy person, and she occasionally needed a break from dealing with his giddy ups and sulky downs. Short breaks, hopefully, because she'd miss his dumb handsome face, but still.
Tim was an enigma to her: cold and aloof one second, looking like a kicked puppy the next. She tried, but honestly she didn't have much patience for someone who couldn't be bothered to go take a nap once in a while, even when his own health was at stake. Sheesh.
Steph was great fun, but she was also the kind of person that brought personal drama into an ordinarily peaceful situation, and Barbara sometimes lost patience with the bubbly teen. She always regretted it afterwards, but such is life.
Damian was difficult to peg, because while she respected the way Dick had raised his difficult brother, she still occasionally felt like the youngster was unstable, and shouldn't be trusted as much as he was. Of course the fun-sized asssasin could sense her mistrust, and that only increased his hostility and disdain toward her.
Bruce was, well, Bruce.
Cass she loved, Cass was pure and too good for this world.
And then there was Jason. Jason was always real. Like her.
That's why when the Red Hood hestitantly poked his helmeted head into her clocktower one night, she took it all in stride. Oracle been secretly listening in on the comms all night. She knew that Jason had been working on his own, trying to get a young runaway kid out of a dangerous gang situation. Based on the shots and chaos she'd heard over the comms, she guessed it had all gone to hell. Either the kid had run off, or… worse.
She continued typing and staring at her screens, but nodded to let him know he could enter.
He grunted in response. She heard him tug off the helmet and toss it on the table. Then he flopped to the hard floor and heaved a weary sigh into his arms. Worse, then.
"Bad night, huh?"
"A crapfest in hell's garbage dump," he mumbled.
She left her work and turned her wheelchair to face the younger vigilante. She bit back a wry grin because he looked so pathetic sprawled on the floor on his stomach. "Want to talk about it?"
He rolled over on his back so he could scowl at her. Obviously not.
She raised her hands defensively. "Hey, you came to me, Freak."
He sighed again, and the scowl faded as if it had never been there. He just looked tired, and young, and confused. "Sorry, Babs. I just, I can't…" He flopped his arm over his eyes, and she wondered if he was crying.
She waited, but he didn't continue. She thought she understood. After nights like tonight, there was always the temptation to throw in the towel and give up this whole stupid business. Heaven knows she'd been close to doing the same many times over the years.
But the world needed them, as hopeless as it seemed at times. She just had to remind him of that somehow.
"'As I ponder'd in silence,'" she quoted softly, "'Returning upon my poems, considering, lingering long…'"
She paused to give him a chance, but Jason didn't pick up the verse, so she continued it herself:
"'A Phantom arose before me with distrustful aspect,
Terrible in beauty, age, and power,
The genius of poets of old lands,
As to me directing like flame its eyes,
With finger pointing to many immortal songs,
And menacing voice, What singest thou? it said,
Know'st thou not there is but one theme for ever-enduring bards?
And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles,
The making of perfect soldiers.'"
Barbara stopped again, because Jason wiped his eyes and sat up, leaning on his knees as he contemplated her words as if she were the Phantom itself. He spoke, his voice hesitant and uncharacteristically emotional:
"'Be it so, then I answer'd,
I too haughty Shade also sing war, and a longer and greater one
than any,
Waged in my book with varying fortune, with flight, advance and
retreat, victory deferr'd and wavering-'"
Jason's voice broke, and he stopped to take a shuddering breath. Then another. He swiped at his eyes, and Barbara was considerate enough to look away. She carried it on, however, while Jason struggled to pull himself together.
"'(Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last,) the field the world,
For life and death, for the Body and for the eternal Soul,
Lo, I too am come, chanting the chant of battles,'"
Barbara risked a glance back at Jason, who was calmer now, his face pensive as he listened. She felt as though she was the poet, speaking directly to the younger hero as she recited the final line:
'"I above all promote brave soldiers.'"
She let the phrase linger in the quiet room. Neither of them moved for a long moment. It was nice, Barbara thought, to let poetry soak into your skin and touch your emotions, when ordinary dialogue would have felt empty and meaningless.
At last Jason took a deep, careful breath, then pushed himself up. "Uh, thanks," he said quietly. "I needed that."
"I know," Barbara said with a quick grin. "Anytime, Freak."
And as the Red Hood left by the open window, Barbara heard him echo the words of Whitman to any night phantoms that might be listening, "'Lo, I too am come…'"
A/N:The title (and the poem that Babs quotes) comes from "As I Ponder'd in Silence" by Walt Whitman.