I still don't really consider myself a very proficient Traught writer, and I hadn't planned on continuing that original one-shot, but it would appear I couldn't help myself. This is based on some of the scenes found in promos for the upcoming episodes of Young Justice. So, here it is. It turned out much longer than I had expected, but I hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave feedback. I genuinely enjoy reading what you think and ways I can improve.
It makes her bolder, if that's possible. She's not herself tonight, or the night before, and tomorrow she will still be walking in the skin of another. She does not consider herself an actress, but she falls into the role with surprising ease. The art of keeping secrets is one in which she has a lot of practice.
Building a persona is like pulling a bow. Each little change in voice and manner, like stretching another inch. Until she is reborn, with a new face and a new name, though the facade as ready to snap as taute string. But, all her life she's lived in tension, and she's not about to stop now.
She may wear a mask, but she cannot keep the her feelings hidden when she must fight against those she used to battle beside. She can only hope, as she lunges and kicks and punches, that her desperation will keep the memories at bay. Because if she stops, the string will snap, and the facade will slip from her grasp. As she rushes forward, willing her muscles not to falter, she sees familiar faces. They are her friends. But for now, they must be her enemies just as she is theirs. This is the difficulty. Acting is one thing, secrets another. But to deny the memories of the blood, sweat, and tears they have shed side by side is her true test. It is one she is not sure she can pass. For what are memories, really, but secrets that refuse to be hidden?
Everything is a rush, a complicated choreography of blocks and attacks. And suddenly, only one person stands before her. Her eyes narrow behind her mask. Nightwing. She can't stop. It is the endless mantra she repeats to herself as she lunges forward. She can't let the mask slip.
Her body moves of its own accord, as swift and lethal as her namesake. She pins him down, her knees flush against the cold, hard ground. She can feel his muscles strain and flex through the fabric of her uniform. His movements send an uncomfortable heat to the pit of her stomach.
Control yourself. Play your part.
She is glad for the stiff metal mask that conceals her face, or the face she is using. She doesn't want Nightwing to see her like this. To remember her in this way.
"Stay down." Her voice is thick and strained. She doesn't want to do this. She looks at his face, but can't seem to meet his eyes. The memories come, unbidden. Her chest tightens as she grits her teeth. He is her enemy, now, and appearances are everything.
She can feel him shift under her and her stomach gives another lurch. He's quick, faster than even she is expecting and her eyes close on reflex, waiting for a blow. Instead, she feels cool air rush against her bare skin. Her mask clatters to the floor and her eyes lock with his for the first time in a long time.
"What are you doing?" She wants to ask, but there is no time. The sudden feel of lips on hers kills the question in her throat. She can't seem to think. Her thoughts are rushing in her head, going too fast to collect. But it feels good and she finds herself leaning in. Before she can register what is happening, her sense of gravity shifts and she finds herself on the ground. Her eyes catch Dick's retreating figure and she's known him long enough to know he's looking out for the rest of the team. She is alone and she can't decide if the feeling she is left with is relief, or disappointment.
After she returns, she mulls over the strange turn of events. She's at a loss. Of what to feel, what to think. Unconsciously, she brings her fingers to her lips. His boldness and her response, trying to remember clearly only leaves her with more questions. He must have been confused, she thinks to herself, even though she knows the excuse is feeble. He must not have remembered it was her. She wears a different face now. It was a way to escape. He couldn't have possibly known it was her. It's the only reason that makes sense, and she clings to it. She doesn't dare think of it more.
It is only later that she remembers the face he sees is her own.
The line between courage and foolishness is a thin one. She knows not on what side they fall on. All she knows is the feeling of his lips on hers.