"They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects."
-Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice
Disclaimer: Mannn. I own nothing.
Chapter Three: Pride and Prejudice
The smell filling the room was both peculiar and unmistakable for the slightly familiar scent of gunpowder, only recognizable to one Nightwing for the sole fact that he'd dealt with it one too many times. By this time, any suspicious activity involving it was nothing more than something to roll his eyes and sigh at for the fact that another stupid teen, most likely, had thought that it'd be a good idea to try it out. This time, though? His mouth was set in a thin line of puzzled thought, mulling over why Cheshire would decide to make a comeback after all this time. After Artemis had even retired.
Tilting his head, he could see out of the corner of his vision that the scent had fixed Zatanna's nose into what he could only describe as an amusing, wrinkled position, quirked upwards as she tried not to sneeze. Though, he turned his attention back to the mission at hand with a silent thanks to Batman for something as simple as letting the magician take her mind off of things. Of course, the thanks was paired with what should've been a withering glare that he learned from only the best (except it was all in his head) due to the fact that Nightwing had been assigned to her - because, apparently, he knew how to deal with her. In all honesty, he wasn't sure if either of them should've taken it as an insult, but the knowing smile on Bruce's face as he left the room with a swish of his cape was enough to leave Dick huffing in protest.
Not that there was much.
He cursed under his breath, quietly scuffing his foot on the concrete floor as he stumbled forward, managing to make it stealthy enough that it could be viewed as all intentional. However, he could still imagine the look that was sure to be passing over Zatanna's face at the moment, even through the darkness blanketing them - a smirk tugging up half of her lips as she struggled to keep the other half under control, a look he was incredibly familiar with because most of the time, he was the one who caused it. He might've even called it admirable, like she'd managed to master one part of the Mona Lisa's inimitable smile.
"The Boy Wonder - "
"Don't," he grumbled in reply, therefore cutting her off before she could finish and drawing a sigh from her. His lips quirked up in the ghost of a smile and he barely suppressed a chuckle, still aware, if vaguely, of their mission. Of their objective. Right? Right.
And that was the last of words passed between us, to a point where Nightwing could no longer tell if the silence stretched between them was comfortable or awkward instead, interrupted only by the soft, almost inaudible sound of her breathing, for once calm and even. It was strange, he thought, that she was far more scared of losing herself to sleep than she was risking her life - maybe it was the instinct that superheroes grew up on. He, himself, had always savored the name of 'fearless' when he was a kid, because he didn't see a reason not to be, flying off of trapezes by nothing but reflexes and muscle memory, trusting his arms and legs to do what his mind couldn't think of.
That was another thing, he supposed. The mind was a complex, beautiful thing that worked in intricate ways - the thing was, though, it worked in complications and equations to attempt to figure out the impossible when it really couldn't, because everything had its limits. Superheroes literally defied the laws of nature, the laws of physics, etcetera, and to force a brain to understand the inhumane commands it was being given was practically ruining yourself. Some things were set into stone.
Staring, willingly, into the face of death was also another thing the mind was unprepared for, he suspected - because, logically, no one would risk their lives on purpose. The thing was, though, Nightwing doubted that anyone truly understood what it was like to be in front of the Zeta Tubes unless they'd actually experienced it - nobody knew the thoughts that flew through his head even after all these years.
First. There was a brief moment when I would be slipping on my mask when it would all catch up to me, when I could finally understand the reality of the situation with what I can only describe as an eye-opening experience. I think it only lasted a moment, maybe a minute or two, but when you got far too deep into thoughts time truly did seem to expand out before you. Maybe frustratingly. My experiences were, more often than not, biased.
The funny thing about death was that nobody truly knows what's beyond it because, of course, nobody's lived to tell the tale of their experience. I didn't typically like to think about all the possibilities, though left with time on my hands, it was only the inevitable. Death was still a scary thing. Superheroes weren't invincible, somehow contrary to popular belief, and we, for the most part, were still human, as well; we still experienced human emotions. We still needed certain things, and we still wanted to believe that everything would be okay - because that's what everyone wanted, wasn't it? The difference was, though, that we were the ones most commonly depended on to fix them.
Whether I'd be trapped in a sleep-like darkness forever and never know, left to battle my own demos for the rest of my afterlife, which might last even longer than my actual life - because my actual life would've ended, and all that would be left was to be elapsed into eternity. Whether I might just be born as a new soul into a new place, possibly even a new world. Whether I might go to Hell, for all the horrible things I'd ever done.
Second. I would always start thinking of the future, hands shaking as I reached for my utility belt. Small, simple things, like the bowling night I'd planned with Wally next Friday, or my nineteenth birthday approaching in just a few months. And it almost felt as if my fate would simply be in someone else's hands, for someone else to decide whether I lived or died - and the only thing I could do was hope that they opted for the former, so that I could manage to bring a smile to my face once more doing all those things. And I wondered how truly pitiful it might be if all of that was to end, all at once. At any moment, any at all.
Third. It could be basically guaranteed that my mind would drift to my family - well, Bruce - and my friends after that, while my eyes would be squeezed shut and I leaned against the door for support in the last few minutes I had before we would leave. They were my everything. They were my lifeline, they were my anchor down to earth - and to lose them, I thought, would be giving into the inner demons that always fought to control me. I always pushed them down. But the more pessimistic part of me insisted that there would one day be a time when stubborness and blind hope would do nothing for me, and I always imagined that similar to being lost in a void - no voice, no one to hear me.
So I would beg for mercy, silently and all in my head. It's stupid, really, and I hate begging - it's weak. It's dishonorable. It's a clear sign that you've given up already, but after nearly ten years of fighting, ten years of letting my head loll back against the wall in tiredness when I got back from a mission, all I could do was hope that it was acceptable. Excuses formed in words: that I'd spent all my life protecting others and that it was time for me to protect myself. I didn't even know who I was asking. But they were still there, and there were still watching, like a crude twist on guardian angels that didn't really save my future in favor of deciding it.
Lastly. The thing was, though, after all those thoughts had safely passed through my brain and I had overcome the dizziness threatening to take a hold of me, I would think about every time the Batman would stare into the face of death, a nonchalant expression always carefully laid out over his features. Until I'd tried it myself, I'd always wondered what it would be like to stare into the cold face of death -
Unsure of what would happen at the moment, our future not even in our own hands.
Desperately wanting for everything to turn out with rainbows and sunshine.
To laugh about tiny, useless things, nothing compared to the whole scale of the universe or even the impact of what they would do.
But overwhelming all of that was the fact that it would be okay if death came.
If it would be peaceful, if it would hurt -
And maybe those thoughts were horrible, when thought of what we would leave our family and friends with, but maybe, just maybe, they deserved it.
Maybe we deserved it, also.
I would slip out the door, a falsely cheerful smile plastered on my face as I stepped out to face what I could only call my destiny.
More often than not, even behind the mask, Cheshire's lips were twisted into a cruel sort of smile. It was always bitter, maybe even broken - yes, broken was the way to describe it, because her lips didn't hold a trace of happiness when she grinned. It was almost as if she was smiling just for the sake of it, smiling just because she no longer knew how to do anything else.
Like the plastic dolls commonly sold in stores, she was always smiling, even when she was handled with something far from care. It took a lot to make an assassin like her cry.
Perched on the rafters in a similar fashion to that of a bird (which she thought was ironic, at the time, considering that Nightwing had been assigned to find her), Cheshire watched the pair of teenagers with a coy smile. They were, for the most part, quiet, little words passed between them as it seemed that neither of them could muster the right ones in the situation, though they moved in synchrony; they moved together, seemingly without even being consciously aware, like - like - parabatai.
It was a word that meant two warriors that fought together, two souls connected so that they were literally a part of each other. The tricky thing about it was, though, that if anything were to happen to one of them, there would be a hole left in the other one, eating away at them until they became mad.
How fitting.
She laughed at the thought, cold and meaningless but still enough to attract both of their attention, their heads snapping up together at the sound. The chuckles continued to fall from behind her mask as she skillfully dropped down from the beam, landing on all fours like a cat as she glanced them over, closer now. "The Little Birdie and the Witch. Sounds like a folk tale for children," she hummed, holding up her hands to show that she was unarmed. Of course, the both of them would guess that she had weapons hidden all over her bodice, which was true - when it was needed, she could flick the daggers she kept hidden in her sleeves into her hands in a practiced move without a second thought.
Her boots clicked against the ground as she took a step forward, therefore tensing up Nightwing's shoulders and narrowing Zatanna's eyes, both of them ready for the fight they came for. Good. She didn't like wasting her time.
Well, granted, Nightwing was one for banter, of course. As Robin, he'd chattered off what would seem to be a never-ending string of words all in one breath, something that would be awe-worthy even if the Flash had done it - even five years later, he still spoke to his opponents before he launched into the fight. She'd detected that his voice always seemed distracted, yet focused all at the same time; like he no longer cared about rambling on and on in favor of simply demanding the answers to the questions he needed. Maybe he was just more rushed. She wasn't altogether sure.
"What're you doing here, Cheshire?"
It was the second time within the span of only a few days that she'd heard resignation and, really, just tiredness in someone's voice addressing her, and she was not impressed. Refusing to flinch and give Nightwing that much, she placed her hands on her hips and made a noise of indignation, intently studying them all the while. "I typically love reuniting myself with old friends, but that's just rude," she tsked with mock disapproval, shaking her head as if they were young children. Nightwing's domino mask narrowed, and through the course of a prolonged few moments, Cheshire found herself with a wide grin spread across her face that no one else could see as everything else was a blur of hands and feet. Another second, and her daggers were in her hands, though with the smoke pellet Nightwing had thrown at her, she was mildly blinded when she threw one of them towards the teen with practiced aim, before rolling out of the way to inspect the results.
Maybe she'd gone soft, but she hadn't been aiming to kill; therefore, she allowed a smug smile to curl up her lips where no one would notice as she gave a nod, eyes carding over the knife that had pinned down Nightwing's sleeve to the wall behind him. It was impressive, and carefully calculated, especially considering that she hadn't been able to see all that well - so maybe she hadn't lost her ways, after all.
"Taking care of old business," she replied after only just a bit more hesitation that she had no doubt either of them would notice, seeing as Zatanna had hurried to the dark-haired young man and fussing over him far more than she should've considering that he wasn't even injured. Nightwing, however, did seem to notice the tone she spoke it with, much to her frustration. He removed the knife from the cloth over his shoulder, let it drop to the floor, and straightened to his full height with what Cheshire could only describe as a 'detective look' - after all, hadn't he learned from the best?
"Meaning?"
Cheshire had no intentions of answering him, though out of the corner of her vision she suspiciously regarded the magician by his side, wondering if she would cast some sort of spell that would make her talk. That was just cheating.
She darted forward, switching her other knife to her good hand as she lunged. Nightwing dodged, as expected, and she used the momentum of her run to turn and try and catch him. Really, from there on, it was just the wind of the fight.
Except... fights were silent, or supposed to be, save for the harsh breathing in her own years, the constant shuffling of feet against the floor, probably a few grunts and shouts thrown in there. This time, though, she could hear the murmuring of words in the background, though she couldn't focus on them with Nightwing's fast punches. While they made for a nice exercise, she'd never been much of a multitasker -
And the next thing she knew, she was invisibly bound because of one certain magician girl who was pinning her with a fake, though bright, grin. It gave her the opportunity, if brief, to truly look over her, and she would've reeled back in surprise had it not been for her constraints at the fact that Zatanna Zatara looked an awful lot like she imagined she did, at the moment. Frustration and anger always led to determination, led to a crude sort of focus to carry through with anything, mostly because she was tired of being pushed around. It was strange, at the very least, to see that clearly written over her face.
Her mask was torn off and discarded, though she didn't much mind (Nightwing already knew, anyway), more occupied with the thoughts flying through her head. She'd long mastered the art of keeping an impassive face, though, something mostly just learned from Sportsmaster, but with the touch of cool air on her cheeks, she offered a wink and a smirk to the pair. Zatanna looked annoyed. Nightwing seemed mildly amused.
Cheshire didn't give either of them a moment to speak. "The nightmares keep you up, hun?"
Both of them froze, and she narrowed her eyes, refusing to allow her eyes to flutter shut for even a moment. Why? Because that brought darkness, darkness brought up memories, memories brought up most likely a confusing mixture of sadness and rage, said mixture of feelings probably led to rash actions that would come to bite her in the long run.
However, at the moment, it seemed like she had already fallen into that trap, eyes open or not. Teenagers, she thought with an inward scoff, truly were so ignorant, considering that the two in front of her were deeply in love and the Justice League could see it as well, judging by the fact that they'd sent the two on a mission together. Zatanna's breath caught - Cheshire saw the entire scene unfolding before her with a sharper, more curious eye than before - and she let out a single, ear-piercing scream that caused Cheshire to flinch before she was dropped to the floor, rolling with the impact though still binded with her magic.
It was eerie, the glow that filled Zatanna's usually bright blue eyes, even if they had been already diluted and weaker when she'd studied them just a few moments ago. Like there was a light inside of her, using her sockets as a pathaway out, and clearly, it wasn't a good sign. But the magician no longer seemed in control, and Cheshire might've laughed at the fact that magic was far more powerful than even they understood if she hadn't been focused on Nightwing.
For such a chatterbox, he seemed to be struggling with the right words to say. The look laid out on his face was borderline begging, she noted, and while he seemed like he was shouting his voice was quiet, barely able to be made out against the rumbling in the floors and the walls.
"There's a difference between truly being controlled and self-illusion, Zatanna, a difference between what you think and what's actually real - and you need to - and you need to understand that, don't lose yourself to the demons because they're not real. I - you - "
Zatanna stumbled back, evidently trying to reel in her power with another scream as her back hit the wall. Seconds seemed to expand into minutes, and pain literally radiated off of her body until Cheshire herself was forced to close her eyes with grit teeth, and then it all stopped. All at once, so abruptly that for a moment she wondered if she'd simply passed out.
But no. Because there was a soft voice speaking at the moment, raspy, but still Zatanna's. "Are you real, then?"
Cheshire almost snorted, but she was being dead serious. The fear in her eyes, as if she was truly afraid of being told the wrong answer. It was enough for her to understand that she needed to keep quiet, and enough for her to watch the scene before her with wide, maybe even jealous brown eyes.
Because she needed that. She needed a warm touch, she needed someone to hold her at night so that she wouldn't be cold. She needed someone to tell her that everything was okay when she really thought she was going crazy or when she seemed on the verge of losing herself to the void that was defeat. She would admit that she'd missed it, of course, while she was gone, and it was one of the few times when she would curse herself for being so stubborn and for believing that she could do some things when, clearly, she was still human. She didn't have any superpowers. And she sure as hell still had human emotions, even if she tried to hide it.
However, the cold, cold truth that stole her voice from her was the fact that she was the one who'd willingly given all of that up, trapped in illusions that she could make it. Love was brutal, sure, but part of that brutality was the fact that it was necessary, to everyone; it was human nature to rely, to depend, to hope.
I gave it all up.
Cheshire curled into herself, eyes fluttering closed as the murmurs passed between them faded out to nothing at all, mouth thinning into a line mostly from hate. She, out of all people, should understand what hate was: it developed past the dictionary definition of simply being a strong disliking of something to, really, the effect something had on you when you would scream, and tear yourself apart, and curse your own very name because you didn't want to deal with it anymore. Hate was also ignorance, because hate was blaming things on somebody else, and, therefore, hate was bliss. Most of the time.
I gave it all up.
The thing was, though, the moment the thin layer of hate peeled away to reveal the sorry excuse of a woman and a criminal she was, it hurt. As if it was slowly tearing apart her insides, as if she was suddenly exposed to the dystopia her world had actually been. She'd been living under a protective cover that she, herself, had put up, because she was scared. Yes, she was scared, and she had no intentions of telling her father that anytime soon. It'd ruin the family reputation.
I gave it all up.
Her mind flickered to Roy, as was expected. Five years worth of a strange relationship that they'd both, unknowingly, come to count on, most of which was them encountering each other on missions and a whole lot of arguing involved, though it was always okay, because both of them would stay the night. Somehow, even if they'd convinced themselves that they hated each other with all their being - well, hate was just an illusion, wasn't it? And that was proved by the fact that Jade would find that, surprisingly enough, she could wake up warm at four in the morning and decide that it wasn't worth slipping out the window for. Which, all in all, was nice.
I gave it all up.
She allowed her eyes, vision blurry as she gazed at the couple standing before her, to open as she used the concrete floor as a headrest. It was expected of her to be brutal, expected of her to kill without a second thought solely because that's what she meant to do. She wanted to, sure, but - well, maybe Roy Harper had left more of an impact on her than she'd initially thought.
I gave it all up.
And yet, they don't have to.
Her binds were, suddenly, loosened, though with a quick glance she determined that it must've been an accident, a result from Zatanna's surge of power. Instinctively, her hands reached towards her weapons, though faltered halfway, shaking; and a mute sigh left her lips as she silently, and clumsily, climbed to her feet. One more glance towards the two to which she must've been invisible to, now, a chewing of her lip to restrain the cry that threatened to arise anytime soon, and she slunk out of the warehouse, disappearing like the Cheshire Cat.
I'm late and I'm incredibly sorry! My excuse, though, is that a tornado touched down near my city when did both miracles and pretty dark things to my muse, I think, which is how that entire thing during Nightwing's part happened. But, anyway, it's my spring break now so I'll have the chapters up back on normal schedule, lovelies!
Artemis Raven Courtney - I wholeheartedly agree with you because Lian is precious and should've been cradled with as much love in the universe, but I'm a writer and quite possibly a bad person, and, therefore, sometimes we have to make sacrifices. She didn't deserve it, and I am sorry for causing it! Hopefully, though, you'll see and understand why ;)
Shoutout to BaeKat101 and Shadowstrike05 for following, and to AlexGSocial for being a babe and favoriting.
Also, out of curiosity, how are my fight scenes? To improve, y'know, the atmosphere for the reader...
Reviews are love. Thoughts?
