We own the rights to nothing within this story.
Happy (belated) Father's Day!
Rose could hear them passing in the hall, discussing mundane matters and exchanging hearty laughs that grated upon her nerves. Swaddled in her bedsheets and darkness, she refused to leave her sanctum even if part of her pointed out that her teammates had just as much right as her to be upset on a day such as this. She, in a rather spectacular display of vulgarity, told that part of her mind to shut up before turning towards the wall and clutching her legs to her chest. After holding the position for a second, she reached up to gingerly touch her eye patch, and dark memories broiled forth.
In her youth, it had been her, her mother, and the regular tutors. Wintergreen, an elderly but kindly old man, would visit infrequently, but she remembered each meeting with fondness. After her mother's death, Wintergreen had been the one to place her in foster care, supposedly for her protection. She would spend anywhere from a week to several months before being moved again, often without warning. During that time, she had asked Wintergreen of her father, and after much wheedling, batting her eyelashes, and the deadly gaze of puppy dog eyes, he had sparingly shared stories of a powerful warrior with her, but stopped when her vision started to fill with wonder.
Eventually, she had met the man who had sired her, and it was then that the remembrances grew hazy. He had taken her from her latest foster home, completed her training, honed her into a weapon, and then turned her upon the Teen Titans, which she recalled distantly. They felt more like a story that had been shared with her than an actual experience that she had been part of. However, she remembered how she lost her eye.
She remembered the silvery glint of the steel as it plunged towards her eye. She remembered the pain that ripped through her, vanquishing the fog of her father's serum, if only for a second. She remembered its return as she looked towards him, or tried to beneath the blood and mangled eye, and sought his approval for her proof of loyalty. And she remembered the hesitation as though he, finally, realized that he had gone too far.
Her hand reached up to wipe away a tear that she had not realized was forming until it was gone.
Not long after that, he had abandoned her and she had been found by the authorities and held by them until the compound in her system had worn away. They had placed her back in foster care, but she had left it when the first opportunity presented itself. Then she had received communication from the Titans to invite her, of all their options, to join, and despite initial misgivings, she accepted.
As she considered fathers and her current situation, her mind offered up the image of a green man, and she scoffed disdainfully at the idea. However, the thought persisted and morphed into the silent image of a slightly older shape shifter offering to give her away. She was unable to muster an appropriately charged and derisive remark as she curled further into herself, eye closing for a second.
For all his oddities and questionable humor, Gar supported her. He never begrudged her the violent tendencies she exhibited beyond occasionally trying to curb them to a healthier level. He funded both her paltry purchases and the budget for her knives and other equipment. He encouraged her education whilst blaming it on Eddie and tried to help, particularly when it turned to subjects of animal biology.
Slowly, she sat up on her mattress, gazing about the dark room that her eye had adjusted to during the hour in which she sulked in bed. Her legs were folded beneath her and she was cocooned in her blanket, only her face revealed. After a moment, she shifted about and slid her feet to the floor before standing, about to leave behind the sheet before she was stricken by a slight chill. Pulling the blanket about her in the form of a robe, she emerged from her room and checked the hallway before padding towards the kitchen. She heard their voices beyond the door and pushed through it to find them gathered at the table, Gar and Duela bundled in warm pajamas.
Mugs of hot chocolate resided in everybody's hands and she found one being pressed into her own by the green man. She blinked at it, watching the large marshmallows wedged into it jostle for position, as he babbled about an unrelenting air conditioner and his surprise at her presence instead of being on her morning run. He returned to the table and she followed after, still absorbed in studying the hot chocolate.
Her mother had watched her diet with a strictness that bordered on fascism, ensuring her daughter was healthy and strong, and she had never been in another home long enough to form bonds. Hot chocolate was not something new to her. It was not some vaunted draught that she dreamed of one day partaking. It was simply a drink, one that she had countless times before. However, it had never been prepared for her; not anywhere outside of a restaurant or shop and that thought struck her as she placed her mug on the island.
Gar was goofy, weird, and generally immature. He never knew when to shut up, had questionable taste in women, thought he was far cooler than he ever had a hope to be, and hogged the television. Most days, she was surprised that he managed to dress himself, never mind manage a team of heroes and a steadily growing company.
None of that stopped her from suddenly stepping forward and throwing her arms about him in a hug, pressing her face into his shoulder to hide the unwelcome tear. There was no hesitation as he returned the hug except a mumbled surprise and obligatory joke that she let slide.
Just this once.
We could make excuses, but we won't. It's short, but we hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading!