Welcome back! So I've only written these first two chapters of this story, but I wanted to get it out here. So this one is from Dick's PoV; hope you enjoy!

No warnings for this!

I don't think I'm ever going to get used to Gotham's architecture. Sure, I vaguely remember it from when I was a kid, but it certainly never got familiar. I ran around a lot of cities as a kid, but my parents always made sure that I never strayed out of sight while we were in Gotham. Even for our kind of carefree way, Gotham was never a welcoming place to strangers. It's kind of weird to be back, honestly. I haven't come back to Gotham since my parents died here, though I was always aware of it on the corner of my perception, like some kind of unresolved itch.

I've spent a lot of time all over the place since then — first with the circus, then with whatever family would take me for a few months — but Bludhaven is where I ended up settling once I was old enough to decide for myself. The job as a cop came easy — I aced pretty much every physical exam they put me through; perks of being a child acrobat — and it eased a thirst in me I'd only ever dimly recognized. Helping people, helping anyone, calms me down. It's not as simple as that I'm always high strung, but just that doing good, and serving justice, gives me a warm feeling in my chest that I don't know how to replicate any other way. It was an easy thing to get used to, and an even easier thing to get addicted to.

I'll fully admit that I can be a bit of a workaholic because of that. Not that it matters; there's no one else making demands on my time. The circus has moved on, they don't come to Gotham anymore, and I'm not close enough with anyone else that my work would get in the way. None of the foster families ever kept me long enough for that.

Too much energy, too 'dangerous' to be around other kids — I taught them handstands, but apparently that qualified as dangerous — and then when I got older, too gay. It never seemed to matter to any of them that I wasn't actually gay, just bisexual. I still looked the wrong direction sometimes, and that was enough. I don't blame them, it couldn't have been easy to try and accept a child who was as likely to do cartwheels off the furniture as sit on it.

That wasn't something I could give up though. Not ever. Acrobatics is the last tie I have to remember my family by, the last thing I can point to and say with total confidence that they'd be proud of. I'm not giving that up.

I'm not sure why I'm taking the priest's offer. Todd, and that has to be a last name. His invitation was just a casual offer, and it's not like it actually meant anything. He might be young — he can't be more than twenty-five — but he's still a priest. Introduced himself as 'Father Todd' and everything. He must make that offer a dozen times a day or more; isn't that a requirement for any kind of religious job? Converting people to the religion probably comes up pretty high on the list of jobs he has.

But he did say that it wasn't about spirituality; he said it was just a safe haven. That doesn't sound like any conversion I've heard of. So maybe that's why I'm giving it a chance.

Or maybe it's because I don't really know anyone in Gotham.

There are the other cops, but mostly they either ignore or mock me. None seem real interested in being friends and honestly, I don't think I want to be friends with any of them either. I knew Gotham was corrupt, I knew its police officers were corrupt, but I didn't think it was this bad. I can't even count how many bribes I've seen change hands since I got here, and it's barely been a week. Bludhaven is corrupt as hell too, but it's not this bad. At least there I knew there were a few others who I could count on to have my back if I ever brought anything real bad up.

Here, I think trying to blow the whistle on anything at all, even something truly awful, might just get me dragged to the back of an alley and beaten. I don't know enough to risk it, not yet.

So here I am.

I push out a slow breath, resist the urge to tug down on my plain black t-shirt, and cross the street to the church. One of its massive doors is propped open, as promised, and I slip into the gap. It smells like wax, like dust, but it doesn't have the musty, abandoned smell of the places that haven't been maintained. The inside certainly doesn't shine, and it's easy to see the wear and tear on everything in here, but it's a long ways from looking dirty. There are stained glass windows high on the wall, dull colors that are probably much more impressive with the sun shining through them. I can't quite make out the scenes depicted in them; the lighting is too dim and the arched ceiling is too high. There are a few lamps scattered around, mismatched and with long cords trailing off to who knows where, but most of the lighting comes from dozens of lit candles.

The hush is the most obvious part. There are people scattered through the long rows of pews, and there are murmurs of conversation, but none of it rises above a whisper. It feels a bit like a library.

I notice the priest approaching me from my right only about a second before he speaks, his smile soft and his looks much more in line with what I expected from a priest to begin with. Older, about my height, with slightly-balding short white hair. "You're new here," he points out. His voice is quiet, and he stops early to still give me a fair amount of space. That's probably something to do with the kind of people they get in here; don't crowd people who might not be comfortable with it.

"Yeah," I answer, and take the initiative to step towards him and close a bit of the distance. "I'm looking for Father Todd, is he around?"

I swear I don't imagine the flicker of disapproval in the curl of one corner of his mouth, but then it's gone just as quickly. "Outside," is his answer. He turns, raising an arm to point down the length of the church. "All the way down, the first door on the right." I nod in thanks, start to walk past him, and he reaches out and touches my shoulder. "You should reconsider your lifestyle, young man," he says sternly, and before I can puzzle out what he's talking about he's moving around me and off to some other person.

I watch him for a second — my 'lifestyle'? What does that mean? — and then give it up and put the strange words out of my mind. I head down the center of the rows, keeping my footsteps as quiet as I can on the stone floor. Mostly, it works. At least I don't get any strange looks aimed my way by anyone else in the church. I push open the door he indicated, and step through it.

It's a medium sized garden, with arched stone supports lining a covered walkway around it, and a fairly large stone wall circling the half that isn't blocked by the church itself. Scalable by just about anyone — I can see the pockmarks in the stone from here — but it's the thought that counts I suppose. Especially here. The moon tonight is bright enough that it's illuminated, which is good since it doesn't look like there's any other light source.

There's a single person sitting near the center of the garden, on one of the five or six scattered stone benches. His back is to me, but I can recognize the priest uniform, and I recognize the streak of white hair over the left side of his forehead. Todd.

I rap my knuckles against one of the stone arches, and he twists at the sound. There's just enough light for me to catch the shade of his blue-green eyes, and then his mouth curls into a small smile. If it feels like it has a bit of a sharp edge, that has to just be my imagination. I move forward as he shifts to the side, making room for me on the bench. My gaze drops to his other hand as I circle the bench, to the carton of cheap cigarettes.

"I didn't think priests smoked," I comment with a small grin, as I settle onto the bench.

He makes a small, amused sound. His teeth show for just a second in the same small grin as mine, and then he raises that carton. "Do you mind?" I shake my head. It's a practiced flick of his hand that flips the lid of the carton open, and he tugs one out with his free hand. "I do a lot of things priests probably shouldn't," he admits, as he flips the carton shut again and sets it down beside his hip, on the other side from me. The click of the lighter he picks up is soft; all of his movements feel like he's on automatic. "Old habit from before I came here; never kicked it."

"They let you get away with that?" I ask, as he raises the lit cigarette and draws in a breath through it. His eyes flick shut for a moment, and he's impossibly still for that second before letting the smoke out again.

"They pretty much gave up on stopping me from doing what I wanted." He flashes me a thin smile. "I'm a priest by circumstance, not because it was my goal in life. You?"

"Why am I a priest?" I tease, and he snorts. Then he leans far enough over to shove my shoulder with his, and the strength behind it almost startles me. Not that I thought that he was weaker, because he's way too tall and sturdily built for that, but I didn't expect the feeling of hard muscle in the relatively gentle shove.

"A cop," he clarifies. "And why here? Hate to break it to you, but I'm pretty sure you're the only person to ever ask to get transferred to Gotham. Usually they save that for pretty serious fuckups."

"Gee, thanks." He shrugs, and I watch him take another drag off of the cigarette. "I kind of fell into being a cop. I like helping people, and I've got the skills for it. Why Gotham…?" I tilt my head back, searching the black sky for stars I can't possibly see.

"You can stop there if you want to," Todd says quietly. "Gotham chews people up and swallows them still alive. The lucky ones she spits back out past her borders, but most people who've been in Gotham have a hard time ever really leaving it behind." He gives a soft snort. "I've heard a thousand stories, you don't have to tell me yours if you don't want to."

I look over at him, watching him flick the cigarette to get rid of the excess ash. "My parents were killed here," I confess, and his gaze flicks to mine.

"Sorry for your loss," is the answer that comes out of his mouth, paired with a small tilt of his head.

"It's been a long time."

"Doesn't always make it easier." He holds my gaze for another moment, and then gives a crooked smirk. "I can pray for them if you want."

"You're kind of an ass," I comment, "you know that?" But my tone is light, easy, and I'm really not offended. He knows I'm not big on religion, and the smirk clearly makes it a teasing offer, not a genuine one. Though if I asked him to, he probably would. He raises his shoulders in a shrug, still smirking even as he looks back down at the cigarette. Curiosity strikes, and I ask, "What's your story?"

He gives a huff of breath that sounds amused. "You want the palatable version, or the uncensored one?"

"Uncensored," I answer instantly, and he takes a drag of the cigarette.

He waits until he's blown all the smoke back out before glancing over at me and tilting his head. "Fair enough. Alright, well, starts out not so different from a lot of other people here. Father in prison, mother overdosed, and no other family, so I was out on the streets. Got in with the wrong people, ended up in a gang run by a man called Brother Blood." Todd flicks the cigarette again, and just stays watching it for a moment before he continues. "Developing drug lord; he liked how I worked so I ended up pretty high in the chain. Batman tracked him down eventually, started a gang war in the wake of all the killing. I ended up with a bullet in my chest."

Batman. God, there's a figure I never needed to think about again. He was a nightmare even when I was a kid; he was the thing that my parents used to keep me where they could see me while we were in Gotham. It doesn't seem like he's gotten any less terrifying since then, and the city sure as hell hasn't gotten any better under his watch. Not that I've seen, anyway.

"So it changed your life?" is my next question.

Todd gives a sharp laugh, and shoots me a grin that's more teasing than actually amused. "Yes and no. I died. The bullet punctured one of my lungs, and no one was going to help one random gang member lying halfway down an alley."

I blink, stare at him for a second, and then blurt out, "You're fucking with me."

He laughs again, but he's also shaking his head. "No, I'm not. I died in that alley, and I woke up two months later in storage at a morgue." He shrugs as I stare some more, and lifts the cigarette. "You asked for the uncensored version; that's it. It's hard not to believe in a higher power when you come back from the dead; miracle resurrections aren't exactly a common thing, even in Gotham."

I can't stop staring. Even as he presses the cigarette to his lips and draws a breath through it. "That can't be true."

"Welcome to Gotham," he says with a smile, smoke coming out with the words. "I'd show you the scar, but it's a little hard to get out of these robes in a decent amount of time. Luckily they hadn't gotten to the backlog I was stored at, so I was never actually declared dead by the court. A couple of the priests found me collapsed nearby, and I've been here ever since." He gives another shrug at my look, and aims his smile towards me for a moment. "Hey, you asked."

"Fair point," I manage. I have to shake my head to get the shock away from my mind, away from the idea that there's a miracle sitting next to me. "So, what? It made you religious?"

He makes a noncommittal noise. "I believe that there's something," he finally admits. "There's no other explanation for why I'm alive. But what that something is?" Another tap of the cigarette, another flick of ash to the stone beneath the bench. "I think the idea of a benevolent, all-seeing, 'God' is comforting to a lot of people. I know there must be some force in the universe out there somewhere, or I'd be in a grave. So if people want to believe in someone they can pray to, who am I to stop them? I might not agree with the text of a lot of religions, but I can believe in the messages behind them."

"And what are those?" I ask.

His smile softens a touch, and he gives another shrug as he looks over at me. "Love. Accept. Help when you can. Be the best version of yourself that's possible. Live for life, and not for the individual pieces of it." He takes a long slow breath through the cigarette, as I watch him. It feels a bit like balancing on a high wire, right down to the familiar pleasure that always lit in my chest. It's just waiting for the next cue, or the next roar of excitement from the crowd. I'm used to that kind of waiting. "I preach religion to the people that need it, I tell them that they'll be forgiven, that they're loved. I don't push it on the ones who don't. If all they need is someone to listen, then that's all I give." Another smile, this one smaller and more gentle. "I was given a second chance, so I'm going to pass it on to as many people as I can. Everyone deserves that same chance."

I raise my gaze for a moment, back up to the sky. "I can get behind that," I answer. The smile he gives is warm, and the one I aim back at him is an echo of it. I extend my right hand, and turn halfway towards him on the bench. "I'm Dick."

To his credit, his mouth only twitches up a little bit at my name. Then he turns towards me, and takes my hand with his free one to shake it. "Jason," he answers. "Nice to meet you."

Our hands part, and I find myself instantly missing the warm touch of his skin to mine.

I trained myself out of needing physical touch a long time ago. In the circus touch was constant. A touch to my shoulders, my back, a ruffle of my hair, or a peck of lips to the forehead. I was constantly being touched, lifted, swung. My whole life revolved around the idea that even in free fall, even while I was flying through the air without a thing to support me, there was always someone there to catch me. There was always someone ready to grip my arms, or my legs, and complete the movement for me. Touch was safety, life, and love.

Until I was on my own.

It hurt, but I realized that no one else was going to touch me in the same way that my parents had. So I fought that part of me down and learned to accept it. I learned to accept that in normal families contact was reserved for praise, and my families were far below normal. Touch was rare except in anger. It was a jarring change, but I managed. It does mean that moments like these, where someone I actually like takes the time to touch me, it's hard for me to let go. Lucky for me that people I like and trust don't come along too often, or it would be harder.

"Can I call you Jason," I ask, "or do you want me to call you Todd? Father Todd?"

He smirks, and tilts his head a bit towards me. "Jason is fine. You're not religious, and we've covered that I'm not really the best example of a priest. You're alright with me calling you Dick?"

"That's fine," I answer instantly. "Been a long time, I've gotten over the jokes. It's—" A sharp scream splits the air, and I jerk around. It was muffled, it came from the direction of the church, and it sounded terrified. "What the hell?"

Jason is already moving, the rest of the cigarette crushed beneath his heel as he whirls around and heads for the door back into the church. He's moving fast, and after a startled moment I click into action and follow him. There's a set to his shoulders, an expression in the glimpses of his face that I catch, that makes me think that this isn't the same shock to him that it was to me. He looks determined, but not startled, and there's an edge of anger to his eyes that brings into sharp relief the fact that he's tall, broad shouldered, and obviously stronger than is obvious at a first glance. My every instinct says he shouldn't be messed with, not right now.

He pushes through the door and into the church, and I'm at his heels. I drop back as his pace increases a touch, and my gaze flicks around the church. The people I remember being there still are, scattered through the pews, but they're all partially hunched down and turned towards the front of the building. Staring at something. My gaze gets there last, and my fists clench before I can even think about it.

I know the cop standing there, his nightstick out and held threateningly halfway into the air. I don't know the woman cowering in front of him, but I don't need to. I know the cop for a bully, a womanizer, a lying bastard who laughs in people's faces when they want help. The woman's afraid of him, and that tells me all the rest I need to know.

I almost reach for a weapon before I remember I'm not in uniform, and the closest thing I have to a weapon is the badge tucked in the back pocket of my jeans. Going up against that cop is just an invitation for a beating; no one would question it. Which makes me wonder why Jason is striding down the center of the pews like he's planning to bulldoze this guy over with just his weight. It also makes me speed up a bit to try and reach him before he gets there.

The cop raises that nightstick a little higher, the woman raises an arm as if to defend herself, and Jason shouts, "Enough!" down the length of the church. The cop flinches, his head snapping up. Jason pushes forward, easily taking the woman and guiding her behind him without ever taking his gaze off the cop. For the life of me, I can't remember his name right now.

"This isn't your business, Todd," he snaps, and I can see Jason's shoulders curl a little bit.

"You brought it into my church," he answers, voice low and rumbling with threat. "That makes it my business. Leave."

His fingers clench hard enough around the nightstick that his knuckles turn white, and the cop's mouth curls in a sneer. He's smaller than Jason is, but I know he's more or less all muscle, and unless Jason has some kind of hidden martial arts training I know the cop is better trained. "She—"

Jason's voice lowers a little further. "I don't care. This is a sanctuary; violence is not allowed against the people who come here for protection. So you can leave, or I can throw you out that door, but you won't be hurting her."

The cop puffs up. "Todd, you're interfering with official—"

"You keep your badge out of this church," Jason snarls. "Those are the rules. You know that, officer. The whole GCPD knows that. Leave."

For a second I think he's about to take a swing at Jason, but then the cop shoves the nightstick away and steps back. Then his gaze flicks around the church, like he's looking for someone to back him up, and his gaze settles on me. "Grayson?" he hisses, eyes widening and then snapping to Jason for a moment. "I should have known you'd be here with this fag, Grayson." Jason twitches, the fingers of his left hand curling into a fist. "We all knew you had a stick up your ass, but letting a priest put it there? You're a special kind of fucked up."

"Get out," Jason snaps, taking a step forward.

The cop backs off another step as I watch, resisting the urge to mimic Jason and curl my own hands into tight fists. "You'll regret this, Todd." He turns and heads for the exit, shoving through the partially open door and vanishing from sight. Only then does Jason ease down out of the tense, ready to fight posture.

He slowly turns, and his gaze lingers on me for a brief second — am I imagining the wariness there? — before focusing on the woman. Just in time for her to launch herself at him and wrap her arms around his chest. He looks just a little surprised, but that almost instantly disappears as he lowers his arms and gently wraps them around her. She's trembling, but the muffled words she's saying against his chest sound like a variety of thank yous. He closes his eyes for a moment, head dipping down towards her.

"It's alright," he murmurs. "Come on, come sit down." He gently herds her over towards the pews, and shoots me glance that I read as a request to leave both of them alone for now. I'm happy to.

I cross the room, over to the front doors, and take a glance outside. The cop is just getting into his car, and I wince when the sirens click on and he peels down the street. Oh, that's going to suck later. I'd mostly been able to avoid anyone figuring out that I swung both ways, but that's blown now. Now I'm not just the new guy, or the rookie, I'm the gay one on top of it. Great. Another reason for them to make me the focus of their attention, that's just what I needed.

I take a glance over at Jason, who has his arm around the woman's shoulders and his head ducked down. His mouth is moving, but whatever he's saying is soft enough that I can't even catch the murmur of conversation. Not even with the echoing effect that this church's architecture brings into play.

Is he really gay?

He didn't contradict it, and he did give that miniscule twitch when the slur came out of the cop's mouth. That would make sense of what the other priest said to me when I asked him to point me towards Jason. Religion doesn't tend to get along with homosexuality, and if the priests know that Jason is gay then it stands to reason that at least some of them wouldn't approve of it. Even more so if he's actually sexually active as well; I think that's a big no-no for priests, at least outside of marriage. It would explain the distaste that the older priest looked at me with, the cop's slur, and the way he more or less ignored it. Might also explain why he said he believes in the principles behind religion, but not the text itself. It's hard to get along with a religion that condemns what you are.

I stay at the door, half keeping watch out the door just in case, until Jason rises from the pew and leaves the woman alone. It looks like she's calmed down some, and she's got her hands firmly clasped together in prayer. Jason takes a look around the church, like he's making sure that no one else needs him, before crossing over to me.

I slip a little further into the church to meet him, and tilt my head towards the woman. "She alright?" I ask softly.

"Should be," he answers, with another glance back towards her. "It'll take some time, but as long as she needs somewhere safe she can stay here." His gaze returns to me, and he gives a crooked smile that looks a little guilty. "Sorry, by the way. For whatever that group decides to do to you for being around me. If it gets physical—"

"I'll handle it," I say easily. "Had to happen eventually; I wasn't going to be able to keep that under wraps forever. At least now I know that it's coming."

He looks just a little startled, and he glances me up and down. "You're actually gay?" he asks, voice holding that same edge of surprise.

"Bisexual," I correct, with a shrug. "Always have been. You take a whole precinct full of detectives, and one guy hiding his sexuality, it's not going to last. Especially not when that's the new guy. Same thing happened to me in Bludhaven; dealt with it there and I'll deal with it here. What about you? That just a slur, or was there some truth to it?"

He echoes my shrug. "Some. I lean towards guys, most of the time."

"Thought priests weren't supposed to have sex."

His small smile curls into a grin. "Thought we covered I do a lot of things priests shouldn't. I smoke, I drink, I fuck." I twitch in surprise, and he gives a quiet laugh. "And I curse. I keep myself toned down for general audiences, but I don't hide who I am." He considers me for a second, and then tilts his head to one side. "Maybe we can go out for a drink sometime, and you can see for yourself?"

A part of me shuts down, and I can feel my expression freeze in place. "Is that how it is?" I ask, keeping my voice quiet. "Find out I sleep with guys and bam, better start the chase? Being bisexual doesn't mean I'm available, or interested." I take a step back, starting to turn towards the door to leave, and Jason follows me.

"Dick," his voice is soft, calm, "it wasn't anything more than a drink. Promise." I pause, watching him and waiting for a reason I should stick around.

I promised myself that I would never get used again. Not after the disaster of my first time. It's been continually ground into me that I'm good looking, and that makes me a target, but it doesn't make me anything more than that. Sleeping with me is something to brag about, but actually staying would mean a commitment no one seems willing to make. I've tried.

Maybe I put too much importance on the act itself, maybe it really is just something to relieve stress and have fun with another person, but it never feels like that. It feels intimate, I always care, and I don't know how to handle the fact that apparently no one else thinks of it that way. No one else seems to believe that sex is anything more than fucking; love doesn't seem to have anything to do with it. Except to me.

"If you're not interested, consider it closed," Jason murmurs. "It was just an invitation." He pulls in a deep breath, and then lets it out slowly and with a small smile that looks a tinge sad. "Most people have trouble seeing me as anything but a priest. Taking the possibility of sex off the table doesn't matter to me, I'd still enjoy having a drink with a handsome man who happens to be one of the only honest cops in Gotham. Even if it's nothing more than conversation and someone I don't have to watch my tongue around."

I watch him, trying to find any kind of deception in his eyes, and he gives another soft smile. "So? Interested in a drink, Dick?"

"I—" I swallow whatever was on the tip of my tongue, and then give a small nod. "I could use a friend in Gotham," I admit. "Sorry about that. I— Bad experiences." I force myself to relax, and to give a small smile. I'm pretty sure it looks grim more than anything else. "Good looking and bisexual; it's like throwing blood in with the sharks, you know?"

"I know," Jason answers, his voice still quiet. "I remember what that was like. You'll probably need a drink or two after tomorrow. I can ask for the night off, or come in late. That sound good?"

I manage another nod. "Yeah, that's good. Got somewhere in mind to meet?"

"Yeah, I know a few bars with decent people. You work morning shift, right? Meet you outside the precinct at about five fifteen?" I don't know how he knows how our shifts work, but honestly I'm not going to question it. "I haven't got a car, but—"

"I do," I break in. "And that's right. Five fifteen; I'll see you then, Jason."

"You've got it," he says, with a smile that looks a lot more real. "See you tomorrow, Dick."