Noir

A Word: JayTim in a noir film was prompted. I'll admit my understanding of the noir genre is shaky, so my mind went to the hot dame walking into the down and out detective's office cliche.

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Gotham isn't an easy city to live in. She's dark and vicious, and liable to eat unwary men alive without a second's notice. Hell, she's liable to eat even men who know her and are very careful of her nastiness. She's a dark collection of buildings and polluted water, her citizens every bit as rotten and dark as she. Just as liable to ignore you as stick a knife in your back.

There isn't another city like her in the world, and Jason Todd has traveled that world extensively so he knows what he's talking about. Gotham is harsh, ugly, and nearly unhabitable at times, but she's home for him. It's why his feet turned him back to the city time and time again. No matter how far he wandered, how many better places he lived in, or better people he found.

Gotham is it for him, no matter how harsh or ugly she got for him.

Even in the deepest, darkness of Gotham a few gems can turn up though. Jason's reminded of this when a pretty looking thing walks into his office one morning.

The building isn't easy to find, and the office is unmarked. Jason doesn't advertise at all despite Kori's insistence that he should. People still manage to find him. Either by word of mouth or sheer luck, it doesn't matter so long as he always has a good flow of clients willing to pay him for his particular services.

The pretty thing is young and familiar looking with fine china eyes, and black hair that's been allowed to grow carelessly long. His fine boned face is pale and tired looking, but almost as familiar to Jason as the back of his eyelids. Every Gothamite worth their salt knew the faces of every member of the Wayne family along with their twisted stories of tragedy that made them Gotham's true royalty.

"Have a seat, Mr. Drake," Jason graciously offers and pointedly doesn't stand up from his slouch behind his battered desk. Just because Timothy Drake is one of Gotham's unquestioned elite doesn't mean he has to afford the man any more courtesy than he affords anyone else. Pretty face or not. "Tell me what I can do for you."

Drake doesn't seem the slightest bit perturbed by his lack of manners or even the shabby state of his affairs. He sits in the creaky, wobbly chair that Jason stole from Roy's place like it's nothing. He places his hands on the edge of the desk without hesitation even after he notices the suspicious stain that even Jason has given a hairy eyeball to on occasion.

"I'm looking to hire you, Mr. Hood," Drake says and his voice is low and every bit as pretty as his face. "To find someone for me."

Jason doesn't normally take on anything that will lead to him being on the side of the upper crust. He usually lets them talk it all out before showing them the door, but he can feel that resolve wavering under bright blue eyes. Jason really wants to see more of them, and that's effecting his usually firm stance.

"Interesting as that may be, Mr. Drake, I'm not really in the business of tracking down flighty lovers or debtors," Jason drawls and almost smiles at the flash of anger that draws from the other man. A flash that lights up his eyes and eases some of the weariness in his face.

"That is not what I am here for," Drake says, and his voice is tight now, but still even and low. Jason wonders how much it'd take to get the man to yell. Or even how little it'd take to make him scream. "I want you to find Bruce Wayne."

All thoughts, lascivious or otherwise, drop from Jason's mind in an instant as he sits up straight in his chair. Drake has his interest in more than one way now. "Last I checked he was six feet under."

"The coffin's empty, we never found his body," Drake says and he fixes Jason with an oddly intent look that makes him look older than he actually is. "What I have found are signs that he's still alive, but the rest of the family don't believe me when I bring it up. I need help finding out father, Mr. Hood. I'm prepared to pay whatever you feel you need. Will you help me?"

Jason studies the man in front of him. His picture pretty looks, the way his knuckles are going white from his desperate grip on the edge of the desk, and the determination making his eyes go even brighter than when he was angry. He can hear the groaning and complaints from Roy already, along with the aggressive remarks from Kori. He knows this is going to wind up biting him hard some way, some how.

He leans forward anyway when he says, "Tell me everything you know."

It just might be worth it in the end for the tiny, grateful smile he gets as Timothy Drake begins to talk.

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