4.

The moon shines bright tonight, brighter Jason can ever remember it being before. The country road before him bathes in blue light, the yellow and white lines nearly lost in its intensity, and on either side of the pavement, thick moonbeams pierce through the thick treetops of the forest. Above, the sky is cloudless, and the moon hangs suspended in the center, a full, silver disc. It's the perfect night for driving.

And Jason resents it – or, he resents that it came tonight, this month, this year. It should have come to him so much earlier, when things were going right for once in his life. Tonight, it should be raining buckets, enough to flood. The stars should be gobbled up by an advancement of black clouds, lightning lighting their path while thunder rocked the earth. Such a storm still wouldn't be able to come close to the intensity of the storm in Jason's head, in his heart, but even a drizzle would be a hell of a lot better than this fucking beautiful blue night.

Hand tightening around the clutch, Jason downshifts as he swerves his stolen Porsche around a sharp bend. His heart jumps as the wheels threaten to slip out from under him, but in seconds, he's around the bend and heading downhill. The LED headlights slice through the moonlight and reveal another bend a few moments ahead of him. It's not nearly as bad as numerous others he's tackled tonight. Jason shifts back up, the little hand in his speed gauge climbing upwards, confident he'll be alright.

The bend comes and goes, and though gravity tries to pull the car off the road, Jason's heart keeps steady, numbed by worse close calls. The road now before him is almost straight; a few, small curves break the flow, following the ravines and ridges, but they're minuscule.

Jason glances at the digital clock set in the dashboard. The red numbers glare 1:36, which means he's been out for over three hours now. Maybe four. He can't quite remember. He hadn't been really been paying attention to the time when he'd hijacked the car. Either way, he won't be able to keep this going for a whole lot longer. If he's lucky, he has about two hours left. If not, he's looking more at forty-five minutes, which would be just enough time to get back to town before he becomes stranded.

Now, if only he wanted to go home.

Thinking of the barren apartment back in Gotham and all the plans laid out on his desk that he would have to revise, Jason's stomach twists. He hates the thought of going back more than he hates the perfect weather, especially with the road stretching out invitingly before him. Really, he tells himself, it would be a waste not to drive it.

Knowing he'll regret it later but not caring now, Jason shifts up and mashes the gas, the car lurching forward.

Once upon a time, Jason would've been able to feel the steep increase in speed. He used to notice how the world outside his window blurred into shapeless colors and marvel at how he remained unchanged. When he was younger, speeding had the same effect as an adrenaline shot, including the addiction that came after. With time and experience, the excitement had worn thin while the addiction, which could only be satisfied with near death experiences nowadays, had not.

Part of Jason mourns the time in his life he didn't need to go to such extreme lengths to let off steam. He yearns to turn back the clock to simpler times – or as simple as it could get with him. To his surprise, Jason finds that doesn't mean he wants to be with Bruce again. In some sick twist of fate, he wants to return to as recent as a year ago. Since coming back from the dead, things had going so well for him. Not everything, obviously, like the actual resurrection and following psychotic break, but overall, he had been doing better. He'd set himself straight. He put his mind to planning instead of throwing himself headlong into every situation. He had aligned himself with Talia, and in turn, he gained access to a vault of knowledge that never would have been available, had he still been with Bruce.

That's not to say that Jason had been happier than he had been with Bruce – far from it – but if nothing else, Jason had become satisfied. He knew his purpose and why it was his, and that was more than he could ever say about his life before his unfortunate demise, where he often knew one without the other.

But this last year… these last God-forsaken twelve months… They almost hurt worse than dying.

Unbidden, memories rush back, one after another: the stabbing in London by some lucky asshole. His lapse in taking care of himself, resulting in his near-fatal infection. His disappearing off the grid entirely for six months, which nearly drove him insane. His overall decline in speed and attentiveness, which had resulted in mistakes – so many mistakes, too many mistakes – and cost a little girl her life when it should have been his.

But mostly, Jason thinks about the goodwill, confidence, and respect that he'd built for himself and lost. The future he'd been barreling towards no longer felt certain, and for the first time in a long time, Jason hangs in limbo, wondering if he should continue like he has while doing just that.

And Jason has the woman in the passenger seat to blame for all of it.

Without turning his head, Jason glances at Tessa. He can just barely see her. The red lights on the dashboard cast pitch black shadows across her frame, but they don't cast behind her, almost as if she's not there at all. Relaxed, she leans back into the seat with one leg crossed over the other, hands clasped in her lap. She doesn't look at Jason. She doesn't speak. As far as the man knows, she hasn't even moved since appearing beside him all those hours ago. Her eyes are locked ahead of her, out the windshield, staring blankly into the night.

Her lack of engagement unnerves Jason. She's always popped in with some greeting, always tried to scathe him with her comments, but tonight, Jason only knew of her visit because of a drop in temperature. He doesn't know what to make of it.

Ahead, another curve hurtles towards him, the end of the straightaway near. It's not as bad as some of the others that Jason's tackled but still dangerous if he hits it at the right speed.

Tessa's shadowed figure looms in his peripheral, so unnaturally silent and still. Jason decides he's had enough of it – something he never would have thought possible before. She doesn't get to be quiet the one time he almost hopes that something goes wrong and kills him.

Calculating his next move carefully, Jason downshifts once, twice, three times and puts on the brake. The car slows down considerably but still not enough to be safe, which is his goal. A few seconds tick by where Jason could further drop his speed, bring it down to manageable, but he doesn't take his chance. He swerves around the corner. Jason clenches his teeth as two of his wheels lift off the pavement. His heart jumps into his throat, and he downshifts again. The curve ends, the road straightens out, and the car jolts as the wheels land back on the ground. It continues its way, undeterred.

Jason glances at Tessa again. He doesn't think she's even blinked.

Frustration builds in Jason's chest. His heart beats rapid-fire from the close call, and it starts to burn – a familiar sensation that Jason doesn't even notice. Heat builds under his collar. His fingers twitch, wanting to scratch the prickling breaking out on his arms. He snaps, "Are you ever going to say anything?"

To Jason's surprise, she asks, "What would you have me say, Jason?" Her voice is low, and as it always seems to be nowadays, exhausted.

Stunned, Jason doesn't know how to reply. He had never had to supply the conversation before; she had always had something to say. What does he even want to hear from her? Not her gentle persuasions to 'let go.' He'd probably take her word and crash into a tree. He doesn't want admonishment for his choices; he gets it enough from himself and the rest of the world, but he doesn't deserve any comfort she could give either. Everything may be her fault, but he still carries more of the blame. The problem always draws back to him. He doesn't know what called her forth from wherever she came from, but – and he thinks this, he notices how his conviction for his theory has eroded; his belief, which was set in stone before, now sits on a foundation of sand, and that's another thing to blame him for, he supposes – he never should have encouraged her existence like he has.

"I don't know," Jason finally answers, his voice nearly cracking. Frustrated, he jerks the wheel to ride to the smooth curves of the road. "Something. Anything. You're a chatterbox. I'm sure you can come up with something creative."

"There's nothing left to tell you. I've said my piece enough." Jason can feel a glare, even though she hasn't so much as glanced in his direction. No pity has been saved for him today. "Besides, you never listen to me anyway. I'm done knocking on your door."

Jason hates how fair that is of her. "But what if I'm willing to open it now?"

"One, I still wouldn't need to talk to you about it, and second, letting someone in isn't in your nature. You may think you're ready or willing or whatever, but you'll always lack follow through."

Another wave of heat washes up Jason's throat and over his cheeks. He can't believe she's insulted him like that. He snaps, "Oh yeah? Then why've you tried so many times? For being such a lost cause, you sure did your damn hardest to barge your way in."

"A mistake," she says plainly. She must've had a lot of time to sit and think about it if she could dismiss it this easily. "I thought I saw a part of you that was ready to let go. I still see it now – especially now. No one does this kind of dangerous shit unless some part of them is ready to take their hands off this wheel."

"Wait one second – hold up. So, which am I? You just said that my stubborn ass doesn't want to die –"

"Move on, not die."

"There's no difference when it concerns you. Back to the point because – suddenly, I actually do want to die? I can't be both, so which is it?"

Tessa moves for the first time to press a hand into her temple. Jason fights back a smirk, hollow as it would've been. Tessa replies, "I didn't say you were both. I said your stubborn ass won't let you move on–" Jason rolls his eyes at her choice of words. –"but a part of you wishes you could."

Sure. Out of context, she's not wrong. There are times Jason does wish he could let everything go, abandon his current path, and move on to a fresh start, as Tessa likes to say. In context, though, he can't believe her gall. He may have plenty of thoughts of, Damn it, if I just let this guy shoot me, if I just drive too fast or let my hands off the wheel, if I just let myself be plowed down, it'd certainly make everything easier, but they were fleeting – products of frustration. Even when he circled back around to the dark corners of his mind, as he was apt to do, he never actually meant it. He dreaded the day that he would have to return to the grave he'd crawled out of once.

Why couldn't Tessa see that? Why did she have to keep coming around again and again, taunting him with his scariest fear and his strongest fantasy, all at once? Why couldn't she just leave him to walk his path alone?

Funny that you think you wouldn't die of loneliness without her, a tantalizing voice whispers in the back of his mind. Jason's hands tighten around the steering wheel. He hates (and hates and hates, and is there anything that he loves anymore?) how right the voice is. If it weren't for her rhetoric, he'd probably welcome her when she came, whether a fiction or no.

"Am I right, or am I right?" Tessa asks, breaking Jason from his train of thought.

He shoots her a glare from the corner of his eye. "I don't want to die."

"I didn't say you did."

"Whatever."

The pair sink back into silence, Jason zipping the car along and Tessa staring ahead without seeing. The air between them crackles with their warring frustration. With one spark, one thoughtless comment, both would blow.

Jason focuses on the winding curves ahead, the long straightaways disappearing farther behind him with every second. He hurtles into hairpin after hairpin, his hand working overdrive on the clutch, his free hand throwing the steering wheel this way and that. His body jerks back and forth, gravity grappling to drag him and his ride into the ditches and drop-offs that rise and fall on either side of him. To his frustration, Tessa remains still beside him, as if the laws of psychics didn't apply to her – which, he thinks, they don't. His resentment of her grows.

To be fair, she probably feels the same for him. She puts up with the car's jerking movements for maybe ten minutes, and then she snaps, "Jason, for God's sake, stop chasing your headlights and go home."

Jason quirks an eyebrow. He'd never thought she'd suggest something so sensible. Maybe some persuasion to let the car drift off the side of the road, but a plea for him to go home? Unheard of, unless there was something there that he wasn't aware of – the more likely of the two options, really. Still, there was something about her attitude that made Jason think otherwise.

"Yeah?" he asks. "What about the whole 'moving on' deal? Not going to try to sell me your bullshit anymore?"

Tessa sighs and presses a hand to her temple again. "Only for the night, Jason. Now, go home, so I don't have to worry about you anymore and can get back to my job."

"Should have done that hours ago."

"Should have but couldn't. Thanks for that."

Jason rolls his eyes. "I wasn't keeping you here."

Tessa turns her head and looks at him for the first time. Jason glances at her, catching only a small glimpse of her exasperated look.

"Weren't you?"

Jason doesn't know how to answer, so he doesn't, and Tessa doesn't try to speak with him again.

Hope any of you still reading enjoyed! One more chapter, and then this baby is done. WOO!