A/N: While this may seem like a fast update (I posted 13 late this morning), it took all day to type this. I couldn't help it, I like writing these kind of scenes. Although, the end is a twist that not many of you will have seen coming. Jameson rears it's green, chest-burning self!

Redux 1: The Watchman

Nothing to Fear...

Chapter Four:

June, 2007:

"Everything had taken a turn for the surreal. One minute, I'd been struggling to walk down some dingy street in North Jump, so sore and exhausted from the fight with Doctor Light. Next thing I know, I'm being helped into the back door of that worn down, two-story apartment building by a woman I had just recently saved from a gang rape no less a week prior. Here I was, Garfield Logan, former Teen Titan, limping home after a beating from a second-rate supervillain. I couldn't believed I'd only been back in the city two weeks and I'd already gotten myself beat pretty bad. My one arm wasn't feeling the best and my knees felt like a sledge came down on them. I'll admit it, Doctor Light sure brought his A-game that round, the scars can vouch for that.

In the meantime, I was facing a different challenge. The only problem with Kristine's apartment was that her place happened to be on the second floor. On a normal day, fourteen steps when you're healthy isn't even a thought. Try fourteen when you're injured and it becomes a headache on a good day. We made it up those stairs though, up each creaky step in that ruby-red stairwell with only a dim, yellowish light to guide us. And of course it just had to be summer, the ripe time of 8:30 at night did nothing to alleviate the sauna-like temperature. Inside I envied all the other tenants with their air conditioners running on full blast while we staggered up to the door. Pausing a moment, Kristine apologized for the condition of her living. I wouldn't dare complain, not when she was being so generous with her time. Just because I'd lived in Titans Tower didn't mean I didn't understand her situation. After all, just because you work downtown in a fancy hotel doesn't mean you live the high life, not with California rates that is.

She wasn't lying about her apartment not being the Four Seasons, that was for sure. If I had to compare, I'd say her entire apartment had to be no larger than twice the width of my bedroom back in the Tower. As she helped me to the table in the tiny kitchenette, I noticed the place only had room for a tiny bathroom, bedroom, and what looked like a closet. If I hadn't been in such pain, I probably would've asked if she'd taken me into some hotel room disguised as an apartment."

"Again, sorry for the place. I haven't had anyone over lately so just give me a minute, I'll come back and help you stitch you that up." With Kristine disappearing into the bathroom, Gar's eyes roll over the surroundings for a better look. Outside of a sink full of dishes, nothing seems to be so terrible about the place, at least nothing he'd consider terrible given his own manners. For all of her apologizing, there seems to be something pleasing about such a small place. Of course there's nothing "touching" about his face, however. As his fingers trace the six-inch gash about his eyebrow, the emerald vigilante sighs to himself at the reality of his wound. Fortunately while the holoring will hide the eventual scar, it's the mental reality that he was so readily handed this wound that will take time to heal.

Returning to his side on a chair, Kristine sits with a gaze towards his injury. Much to his chagrin, there appears to be a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a small first aid kit nearby on the table. "Alright, let's see if we can make you look a little more human."

While inwardly noting the "human" comment, it's his pain that does the talking. "I'd resent that comment if this didn't hurt so much. You wouldn't happen to have anything in that kit for a headache, would you?"

As she starts to unpack some cotton balls for the peroxide, she nods over towards the cabinets. "I got some Advil and a bottle of Aleve. If that doesn't work, there's a bottle of whiskey from-"

"Whiskey." Gar blurts all too eagerly, uncaring about the repercussions. If the only medicine she can offer will just dull the pain, at least the alcohol will numb the rest of his body. In fact, the green teen is all too grateful to note that while she was polite to bring two glasses of whiskey, his happens to be just a little more full than her's. A good host indeed.

And as fast as the drink came, it descends down into the throat. Full of fire and herbs, the Irish liquor might as well be a bottle of lighter fluid for the crime fighter. "Oh... yup... sss.. that'll work. Damn, that's not like the Jagermeister we had last week. What the hell is this?"

Idly preparing a needle and stitching wire, Kristine warns Gar of the incoming effects of his "medicine." "Jameson, it's an Irish whiskey. If you're lucky, it'll take about ten minutes for it to take an effect but when it does, you'll know it. Now, in the meantime, that cut looks pretty bad."

Nodding at what's to come, Gar offers a little politeness before the incoming burn. "Thank you for doing this. You didn't have to, really, I would've been ok."

Sensing he's being genuine and trying to prolong the peroxide, Kristine returns his kindness with some reality on her part. "I told you already that I owed you for helping me. It's alright, you're welcome. Now shut up while I get to work on that wound. Just so you know, this is gonna burn but we can't have it get infected, can we?"

"Saying it burned would be an understatement. Hydrogen peroxide on your face was something new to me, in fact I never heard of anyone ever doing it before. Thankfully she didn't get any of it near my eyes but I felt like someone just plopped me down onto the sun for twelve hours without any sunscreen. I imagine it's the closest feeling to be fried or barbecued that I should ever hope to experience. Still, in the end, it was worth it. Obviously an infection would be worse than a burn and, as promised, the booze helped. And if I didn't have that to be grateful for, the knowledge I was still alive would suffice. Unfortunately when she finally got to look at my arm, I knew it wasn't going to be pretty. She stressed again that she wasn't a doctor but the swelling pointed to a potential problem. We couldn't be sure if it was only a sprain or a break but, for me, the combination of adrenaline, liquor, and a well-practiced pain tolerance helped me forget about it for the moment.

My knee, thankfully, was only swollen. Yes it still worked but getting thrown leg-first onto an iron railroad track would still hurt anyone weaker than Superman. For that I could use some ice to try and bring down the swelling. All in all I was beaten pretty good, with about twelve makeshift stitches in my forehead, a potentially broken arm, and a bum knee. After patching me back together, the day had left me totally exhausted, the booze kept me buzzing, and there was some strange irony in knowing I was in the home of a woman I only met once prior while stopping a would-be rape. Fun times."

As Gar washes his hands in the bathroom, his gaze keeps surveying the changes time has brought to his face. It would seem the last vestiges of childhood are starting to fade, the childlike, impish contours around his chin and cheeks seems to have turned to granite, very chiseled indeed. Of course the dozen stitches above his eye doesn't add much in the looks department, the eyebrow-length strands of hair might help hide some of the damage.

But the real difference is the dim light coming from within the eyes of the crimefighter. Before North Jump City, there was life in those eyes, a real spark of the divine. Now it appears to be toned down, a reflection of the road-less-traveled approach since leaving the Titans. If only the Doom Patrol were here to see this. There would be some comments for sure, Negative Man would even suggest that if he kept up this look, Gar could pass for a boxer.

Shaking his head at the thought of his former team, the acid taste of reality permeates the alcohol-induced numbness. Here stands Garfield Mark Logan, former Titan and Doom Patrol member, licking his wounds from a beating handed to him by a lower-class, supervillain. While one could claim Doctor Light was clearly jacked up on some unknown substance, the bitter truth is that Gar could've done more to even the fight. How could Light have beaten him so EASILY? How could a burned out deadbeat take down a young, talented, dedicated... well, vigilante?. Even if Gar could call it a draw, the fact is Light still got away and that will take some time to correct.

"Are you ok in there?" Kris asks from the doorway, catching a momentary glimpse at his expression.

Turning off the water, Gar holds himself up with his good hand on the sink. "Just thinking about tonight. About what happened, what went wrong, and what I can do to keep from getting hurt again."

Leaning on the wall, she folds her arms and looks at the tall man in her bathroom. "Look, I can tell you're more than just a regular private eye. You're not like Jake."

While the young man would love to compliment her deduction, that name brings a different notion to his mind. "I thought you told me you didn't know Jake Dewalt?"

Shrugging, Kristine moves back to the kitchen table to take a seat. "Jake's more of a name than a man. He's dating a friend I work with at the Hyatt. Sometimes she tells me stories about him being a P.I. and all."

Nodding slightly, Gar confirms her question. "Well, you're right in that I'm not like Jake. My enemies don't hide in such small places."

Shaking the half-emptied bottle, Kristine gestures for him to join her. "Well then, since you're being honest, why don't you answer what I asked you earlier? Just how in the hell did you get so banged up? And before you try it, don't tell me you got hit by a car or something. I know it's more than that."

With a pained eyebrow rising, Gar sits down to the table with a suggestion to the contrary. "But what if that's really happened though?"

Swiveling the bottle around with a finger on the top, Kristine runs down his suggestion. "That night we met, right? I watched you beat up three men like you've done it to death. I watched you set one on fire and then beat down the other two with a crowbar on your forearm. You don't fight like a barfighter, you fight like a man who's been fighting criminals for years."

While he'd love to compliment her intuition, these questions are getting a little too close for comfort. Unfortunately, dodging the topic might only make her more determined or, worse, inclined to toss him out. "It's not that far away... well... Damn this isn't going the way I wanted it to." Rubbing his chin for a moment, he casts a look at Kristine, inwardly grateful she's letting him figure out his own way through this. "If you really want to know, I'll tell you. But there's going to be some conditions, alright?"

Folding her arms at the prospect, she leans back in her chair. "What kind of conditions?"

"In order to keep you safe, I can't tell you everything about who I am and why I'm doing this. I'll give you enough of a hint so you can get an idea but at least you'll have some deniability in case someone comes asking about me."

Seemingly satisfied with the proposition, she nods and gestures for him to condition. "That's fine with me. Any others?"

Sly as a fox, Gar's winks over to the whiskey bottle for his other condition. "If I'm gonna tell you, I'd like some more whiskey because this headache's getting worse."

Tapping her toes under the table, Kristine tries to process what Gar's just laid out for her. If only it was believable given the sarcasm in her voice. "So, that's who you are huh? You're a "former associate of certain people who's job it is to keep certain other people from ruining the lives of the people at large?". For the record, Gar, that can be anyone! You could be a cop, a soldier, or hell you could be some corrupt lawyer trying to protect those lazy bastards in Congress! You have to be more specific than that."

Gar chuckles at that reply although he can't be sure if that's from her frustration or the whiskey. "Look, I know we don't know each other that long but, seriously, do I look like a lawyer to you?"

Unamused, Kristine taps off the reasons on her finger. "One: Your story sound too pre-packaged, it sounds like a cover story. Two: You're too young to be a police officer or a soldier. Three: Most people aren't that selfless when it comes to helping others, no matter how kind they might be." Pausing to take a small sip of her whiskey, she continues her counterpoint. "Four: You apparently can take a beating that many others can't so I doubt you're a regular man. Lastly, you wouldn't need to hide your identity unless you're trying to protect people around you so that just screams "hero" business. So, are you some kind of metahuman superhero or are you just some stranger who likes to play the mystery man routine?"

Perhaps for the slightest of dramatic reveals, Gar reaches for the whiskey bottle. However, before grabbing the drink, he taps his ring long enough to allow his arm to appear in it's normal shade of green. As quick as it appears, however, the skin resumes it's holographic form, much to Kristine's amazement. "You didn't see things, it's me under this skin. I don't use my official name because of what I've been trying to branch out into but I'm still the same old superhero. It's just that if I keep on being who I was, there's a lot of people who could get hurt because of that association with the team. So I need to be under cover and out of sight to make sure people don't get caught in the crossfire."

Leaning back in her chair, she ignores the alcohol in her hand, stunned at the revelation. Easing Gar's concern, however, she warms up to the notion with a kind remark. "This means a lot to me, Gar. I feel honored you'd do that even though we've only known each other for such a short time."

"Just so you know, as far as the public knows, Beast Boy isn't actually dead. Officially he's been on personal leave since early January. If you think about it, as a persona, it's technically the truth for Beast Boy. The real truth is far worse."

Intrigued, Kristine leans forward to hear each detail. "What's the real truth?"

Gar leans back in his seat, letting the memory wash over his words as his eyes seemingly fade inward. "In reality I chose to resign so that I could do the things in Jump City that I couldn't do on the team. You see, after being drugged with White Rabbit, it was like I finally understood why the city was growing worse and why crime wasn't going away. For all of our hard work, I realized that the Titans never went after organized drugs so, after coming to grips with being drugged, I decided someone had to. My only problem was that I got in way over my head in the beginning. I'm sorry but I can't go into details but I almost ended up killing a man when I discovered what he did to some people. I'm not proud of it."

"So, officially, you're not a superhero anymore, am I right? Just a regular vigilante with superpowers who happens to be fighting for the people the Titans won't fight for?" Smiling at the motivation, Kristine takes a shot from the whiskey bottle. "That's incredible, Gar, I didn't know they still made heroes like that."

The tension in his body seems to be fading away as much as sobriety is, enough that Gar lets the most sheepish grin slide across his face. "I'm trying. It doesn't always feel like it's working but I'm trying." The slick smile fades away though to something a little more genuine. Thankfully the booze makes it easier to talk in these situations. "Thank you, by the way, for not freaking out or something. This wasn't easy for me to do and it's not something I intend to do on a regular basis."

Tilting her head with a smile all of her own, she offers some reassurance of her new friend."Hey, you don't have to worry about me. You're just some guy I met on the street one night on the way home from work, am I right?"

"Maybe I told her for a reason. Maybe after being the pale imitation for so long, I started to believe I was actually human again. After that discussion in the kitchen, I felt as though I gained more confidence in that one session than I'd gotten after months of training in Hub City. With each kind word, she made me happy to feel more human again. Kristine had a sense of humor that I deeply missed during my training as well as a human intuition that, despite Question's intelligence, was lacking in that time. Of course she had trouble with the idea of me fighting criminals, especially since it put my life in constant danger. I couldn't blame her, that's how friends are. Of course I also wondered if maybe the thrill of knowing a superpowered metahuman, one that would seemingly protect her, was something she found attractive in me? It's not like I knew any other women outside of the Doom Patrol or the Titans, especially in those days.

That night she insisted I stay with her for the night. Not like I could really protest between my buzz and my injuries, both would've kept me from even making it back to my base. Let's face it, an injured drunk isn't very good in a fight. The most surprising request, however, came when she offered me the left side of the bed on the promise that I wouldn't try anything "fresh". I would've been far more nervous had my family not raised me to be a gentleman and not try anything "fresh." There was also the very real benefit of something I hadn't had since my time in the Titans: A real bed. Back in Hub City, Question was rather serious about making me sleep on his couch in his apartment rather than letting me use the pull-out. I heard him describe it as "learning to rough it" or some damn thing he chose to call it.

I'm sorry I don't have some exciting story about my first time in bed with a woman, it wasn't like that in the least. Above me all that I could see was the orange streetlamps filtering through the curtains onto the ceiling. Then again, I couldn't tell if said curtain made the lights look more like haze or if the injuries and alcohol were messing with my eyes. Oh and of course the headache was still there, reminding me that sleep wouldn't come easy no matter how exhausted I was. For my the sake of my arm, I had to keep it leaning over the side even if it would get numb. I couldn't risk rolling onto it in my sleep and aggravate it worse than it already was. As for my other arm, well, that side was curiously occupied by a head full of red hair. She confessed that it had been a long time since she had a living pillow to sleep on, even if said pillow happened to be a bruised, beaten wreck of a man.

I couldn't sleep, not at first. Thankfully Kristine was out like a light in no time even as I just stared at the ceiling. Partially the headache kept me awake but there was sweet, blissful joy in my heart as I savored the feeling of a soft bed against my back. For that one night, there would be no hard ground to plague my spine, no dusty couch to block my sinuses, and there would be no need to sleep like a common dog to pass the time. Gratitude in it's fullest as I wallowed in the ecstasy that came from a simple set of pillows, sheets, and a heavenly mattress! In my ears I could hear cars outside passing outside in a tender lullaby of white noise. That combined with the sound of her soft breathing started to eat away at my weary consciousness. For the moment I didn't really know what I was doing there, or where it was all going. But as I laid there drifting into sleep, I knew that while tomorrow was another day, for tonight it was all just a dream.

Across the Bay in the dingiest of phonebooths, a battered and exhausted Doctor Light stands impatiently waiting for his phone call to connect. While his suit might have survived, mostly, he's certain his body may have been pushed far beyond what should be considered "good" if the pain's to be believed. "Pick up, damn it!"

As if planned, the voice on the other side of the receiver picks, boredom in his tone."Who is this?"

"Mister Sunshine, that's who!" Light barks into the phone. Dealing with middle men is annoying enough when you're feeling one hundred percent. Today is not one of those days. "I need to talk to the boss, now!"

"Yeah yeah, hold your ass, lightbulb."

Before the Doctor can chew out the good for nothing, worthless pieces of shit, Light has to adjust his tone for the new voice on the receiver. The ominous overtones in the voice suggest this man is certainly no goon. "I presume you're still alive and well after hijacking that train? I admit I'm impressed, doctor."

Checking over his shoulder to ensure no one's eavesdropping, Doctor Light relays the information. "Regrettably it was only by the skin of my teeth that I escaped. Believe it or not, that wretched kid that foiled my bank robbery appeared again. We fought inside the tunnel and it grew too intense for the two of us. Right now my suit's out of power but I did manage to inflict some punishment in the process."

Taking in the information, the voice seems rather inquisitive about the story to say the least. "Then I take it you used my little gift to even the odds?"

Once again checking his back, Light answers into the receiver. "I did indeed. Just what in the hell did you give me? I felt invincible in there!"

"A little taste of my Never Fear drug. It removes the subject's ability to feel fear relative to the concentration of the gas. Tell me, doctor, did it help you gain an edge on your attacker?"

Confident that the drug did indeed help, Light confirms this for the man on the phone. "It did that and more. I felt stronger than I had in years. However, your hired help is now in the police's custody thanks to that little worm."

The curiosity in his voice seems to be quickly fading to annoyance as Light deviates from the drug's effects. Quickly the voice beckons to more important matters. "Pawns do not concern me, doctor, your safety does. Where are you at this moment?"

"In a phone booth. I barely got out of the blockade the JCPD set up at the end of the tunnel. Strangely enough The Teen Titans were nowhere to be found."

A semblance of amused confidence returns to the voice at the news of the heroes absence, so much so that the voice sounds almost jovial."That suggests my efforts are starting to reap rewards. These Titans would have indeed been there but it appears that they've become slower, more dependent on the JCPD to contain the masks of this city. Doctor Light, this is very good news indeed."

Light would surely share in that joy if only he wasn't stranded in a phone booth out in the open. Time to get back into the shadows before someone calls in a suspicious man looking like the brilliant Doctor Light. "Wonderful, you're thrilled. Can I get a pickup now before I get caught by some officer on the beat?"

"After you complete one last errand."

Just what the doctor needed to hear: Another thankless assignment. "What?! I just hijacked a train for you! What else could you possibly need this late at night?"

"Go to Blue's Place on 59th Avenue. It's a nightclub under the ownership of Antoine Desade. Of course his dear, little son Marin runs the place but it has direct ties to his father. So far we've gotten to that arrogant, drug-pushing degenerate through his daughter. Now it's time to see if he'll change his mind about joining Throne after his son's nightclub is reduced to ashes."

Light actually pauses for a moment before a grin enters his face. "It seems I've mistaken your intentions. I was under the assumption that you came out here just to fuck with the Teen Titans."

"In order to accomplish one's personal goals, sometimes one must satisfy professional ones. Burn that nightclub to the ground, Doctor Light, then return. There's much more work to be done."

On another phone line in Jump City, the voice of the Scarecrow speaks into the ear of a beautiful Asian-looking woman with a face of cool composure. "Speak."

"I've sent the doctor to pay a visit to the son of Desade. If all goes according to your plan, Desade's resistance will turn to ash along with his son's precious bar."

Taking the phone to the balcony of a high rise condo, she looks over the city with the gaze of an eagle over a field of prey. "Doing this won't break his spirit, Scarecrow, it can only make him angrier."

"Anger burns a man just as quickly as fire although fire works beautifully in the nightmares of those closest to the heart. I will be in contact once Desade's desire to resist is crushed and plans proceed on schedule. In the meantime, this city still has such lovely minds to learn from."

"You better be right about this, Scarecrow. If Desade chooses to keep holding out, it might bring trouble for Bulletface and the Triads for not intervening. And if the rumors are true, there could be another player out there who could bring disaster if left unchecked."

"You speak of the little runt who's been interfering with Doctor Light? He's a nobody, a pretend vigilante with no inkling of our plans. He's nothing to us. In time, we'll either dispose of him or make the most out of him."

Surprised at the last bit of information, she turns back from the city to ask one last question. "What do you mean "make the most out of him?""

"If he won't go away or he won't work to further your cause, I'll see him used as a guinea pig for everyone in this city to see."

A/N2: Light burning down Marin's nightclub because Scarecrow ordered it? Because Scarecrow is in league with someone unknown who is working on a deal to become partners with Thorne? And all of this is happening with the Titans and Gar receiving the effects of it all... Jump City's much darker than the media portrays, that's for sure.

Trivia:
- Blue's Place on 59th, a reference to early Watchman reviewer "Blues59"

Rhetorical: The underworld is beginning to learn about Gar..