Authors' Note: Sorry this is a day late - a certain scene was intended to be shorter, but it decided to run long on us unexpectedly. We also didn't think it would be an issue; reviews have fallen off around the holidays, so we weren't sure how closely anyone was following.
That said, be forewarned. There's some very graphic violence in this chapter. It's pretty much one of the most painful things we've ever written. Just trust us ... we've never written a story that didn't have a happy ending.
Eventually.
Jason shrugged into his coat, grumbling. "You know, they offer international shipping these days."
"Yeah, and it's expensive for perishable stuff," Kala countered. This was her last day before she had to head back to the tour again, just a few more shows before she was free, and she intended to spend it on a time-honored tradition. "Plus we can browse the markets while we're there. Come on, Dopey, don't be a wuss."
He buttoned his coat closed, patting his pocket to make sure his wallet was safely zipped inside. That was at least the third time he'd checked, and she knew it was a delaying tactic. "Yeah, but you can afford it. Rock star and all – the lavish lifestyle is part of your whole aesthetic, isn't it? Besides, we're breaking the law, too, not going through Customs."
She rolled her eyes extravagantly at him. "Jase. My dear, darling lizard-brother. We break the law every freaking day. We're vigilantes. Also, if you wanna make the argument that we're illegally crossing borders, please remember that Dad is very much an illegal alien to start with, and no one checks his visa when he saves the day."
"We're not saving the day, we're just shopping," Jason argued.
"And you're an enormous chickenshit about flying with me," Kala said, and clucked at him accurately enough that the hens in the yard picked their heads up curiously.
"Maybe if you didn't fly like a fifteen year old on a caffeine bender showing off their new drone, I wouldn't be rightfully scared of us crashing into a jet," he shot back.
"I have never crashed into anything," Kala retorted. "Also I know most of the major flight paths by heart now. Seriously, Jase, if you're really that upset, I can fly slower. But it'll take hours to get there."
He looked at her for a long moment, shook his head, and then stepped close. "I love you, adrenaline junkie. Let's just get it over with, okay? I can't help it, I don't like flying even if it's on a plane."
"I'm surprised you can even handle flea-hopping," Kala told him, sliding her arms around him. Jason had only gotten bigger and stronger and sturdier with time, until embracing her once-weedy brother was like hugging a refrigerator.
"I don't even like jumping. The falling part really sucks. Sometimes it's the best or only way to get where I need to be, so I do what I have to." Jason gripped her shoulders, his face scrunched up in concentration.
Kala checked around with vision and hearing, making sure there wasn't a car nearby. Most of the time, people didn't really look up, so as long as she got above the usual sight-line quickly she could take off almost anywhere and not blow her cover. Out here, though, they had to be more careful that no unusual phenomena became attached to the Kent farm. So she scouted out the surroundings, and when she took off, she did it fast.
Subjectively, it didn't feel too fast to Kala. One moment her boots were on the grass, the next she had only air under her toes, soaring upward at just under the speed of sound. The wide blue sky above didn't give too many points of reference for her actual speed, and she wasn't pushing it so hard that the wind resistance became a nuisance. It was just flying, to her, not scary at all.
Jason clutched her shoulders, making an entirely unmanly sound, and Kala was a good sister because she didn't laugh at him. Even if she dropped him from this height, it wouldn't actually hurt him. He'd leave an impact crater where he landed, if he couldn't creak his fall, but even if he just dropped like a stone it wouldn't hurt him.
But she still didn't tease him, because pain wasn't what scared Jason. Being out of control was, and Kala actually liked feeling as though she was skidding along the surface of her ability to control events, pushing herself to reckless extents. It was no fun when her whole life was ordered by external forces – much of the reason she'd hated Derek was his controlling tendencies – but being truly beyond control was addictive. Sometimes when she was up in the ionosphere and completely sunned up, she'd just close her eyes, lie back, and let herself free-fall through miles of empty air, gravity snatching her up greedy as a lover. To fall like that was a delicious delight, and she waited as long as she could before catching herself and pulling up. So far she'd only gotten her boots wet doing it, kicking through a wave as she caught herself mere feet above the ocean, and that had been the best time of all.
She didn't tell Jason any of that, because he would probably break out in hives and never fly with her again. Once she reached the right altitude, Kala turned toward the sun that shone so much brighter up here, and flew into it. They leveled off, Jason's arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist, and he relaxed into the flight now that they were bathed in golden light. Jase didn't get quite as many proper sunbaths, not like Kala who could hover up here whenever she chose.
This was faster than she dared to fly with Jay, the landscape below blurring into a smear of green and brown. Jason studiously didn't look down, his face turned up to the sun, his eyes closed. Kala did glance at the ground, seeing Florida blip past like a hitchhiking thumb stuck out from the continent, and then they were over the ocean.
She had to steer then, seeing the coastline of Europe ahead, and Kala adjusted course a little. Jason winced, as always, when the land rushing toward them revealed their speed again. At least he didn't offer commentary.
Kala was careful not to cross any prohibited airspace, and she set them down just off Boulevard Haussman. It wouldn't be Christmas shopping without a trip through the grands magasins; all of the huge Belle Epoque department stores were beautifully decorated for the season. Now that they were firmly on the ground, Jason caught her hand and tugged her along, heading for the gourmet food section in Printemps. Kala laughed, and let him pull her.
Jason shopped like a man on a mission. Kala liked to browse, wandering into any store that caught her eye. He had certain specific things he wanted, which were only available in certain stores, and he made a plan for hitting all his favorite places. This day was mostly about the two of them getting to hang out, though, so she didn't mind keeping to his pace. After all, he did relax a little at the Galerie Vivienne, browsing through antique books while Kala eyed the Gaultier windows.
Eventually they broke for lunch at a little cafe, just a quiet place that only they and the locals knew, but Kala sighed contentedly at finally being able to sit down and watch the city flow around her. If she hadn't had super-stamina and invulnerability, her feet would've been sore by now.
Jason had polished off his salad and sandwich, and was eyeing the dessert menu. Kala lingered more over hers, thinking about taking Jay to Paris. He'd probably already been, globe-trotter that he was, and she wondered if he had a favorite cafe. Some small family-run place like this, maybe. She tried to imagine Jay doing the tourist thing, wandering through museums, climbing the Eiffel Tower.
"Whatcha thinkin'?" Jason asked disingenuously, and Kala laughed. At herself, and at the shrewd look in his eyes.
"Mostly just wondering if I should split dessert with you or get my own," she replied lightly. Another quiet chuckle at her own romanticism; she was seriously thinking about visiting Paris with her boyfriend. Oh, she had it bad.
Jase grinned. "Get your own. I'm not sharing."
"Rude," she laughed, and caught the waiter's eye.
Once they'd both ordered, Jason leaned forward, looking at her. "So, how're things with Todd?"
She wrinkled her nose immediately. "You sound like Aunt Maggie. Don't call him by his last name, please."
"Well, I don't like calling him by my own name," her brother replied.
Kala sighed, rubbing her temple. "Okay, you're Jason, or Jase. Or Iguanaman. He's Jay, or Hood. If I can keep it straight, you can too."
"One, I really hope you can remember the right names, because if not, eww," Jason replied, looking pained. "Two, I was kinda happier when you weren't keeping it straight. Speaking of Marlene, heard anything from the label about the manager situation?"
Kala stuck her tongue out at him. "Hey, I don't pick on your bromance with Tim. And no, the label hasn't said anything. Yet. They're leaving me to pick up the pieces, but I know a drama-bomb is coming. Also even if I do by some miracle get Marlene back, that doesn't mean I'm gonna break up with Jay. Who knows, she might actually be in a relationship."
It was Jason's turn to sigh. "She's nice. I hope whatever she's doing, she's happy. And I hope you're happy, too, which is why I asked about Jay."
Blinking at him, she decided to take him at his word. "Okay. We're both busy right now, so I haven't heard much more than occasional text. He was at the Manor for Thanksgiving, though, I know that much. Alfred wouldn't have it any other way."
"Alfred is awesome," Jason said fondly. He took a sip of lemonade, and then asked, "So is Jay coming to Christmas with us?"
She found herself choking on a last bite of her sandwich, coughing and wheezing alarmingly until she got it down. "Shit, Jase! Don't do that!"
"It's a reasonable question!" he said, defensive, even while he pushed his half-full drink toward her. Her own was empty, so she took a swig to soothe her throat, and he let her swallow before continuing. "C'mon, Kala, you've been dating the guy since August. I figured you'd want to bring him to stuff. And since we're doing in Smallville, I figured I'd go ahead and invite him to Christmas dinner."
Kala rolled her eyes, feeling squeezed in by the pressure of family expectations. "Okay, first, we haven't been dating since August. We've been sleeping together since August. The dates started … late September? Early October? I don't even know. We didn't put a name to it for a while. We're not you and Elise."
He frowned a little, thoughtful. "Even if we're talking October, Kala, that's two months. I know I jumped the gun like, a lot, but two months is meet the family time."
She groaned. "For normal people, maybe, which neither of us are. And the Bats aren't like us, Jase!"
"Look, Kala, how do you really feel about this guy?" Jason asked, his brow still furrowed. "Because if you don't want him around your family…"
Scowling back, Kala told him, "It's not that! Look, it's weird because we already know each other's parents. And I'm not trying to push things here, all right? Most of the reason why he and Donna split up was because things got too domestic. She wanted something that he doesn't even know how to do. The guy was practically a feral child, and then a rich man's ward. He hasn't got the first clue about normal middle-class Midwestern family stuff. Not like the Waynes are within shouting distance of normal."
"And we are?" Jason said, raising a very Lois-like eyebrow.
"We try to be," Kala replied. "Mom and Dad did their best to give us a normal childhood. We went to public school, we watched cartoons, we got allowances, we did chores. He went from stealing tires to survive at thirteen, to putting on a mask at fourteen. Alfred loves them all as much as he possibly can, but none of them are used to being … warm and open, like us. Dick tries, he's the best at it, but no one else in that house is comfortable with it. And Jay? God, Jay would explode into a thousand bats and flap off into the night if Daddy Richard tried to get him into an ugly Christmas sweater for photos."
That mental image did make Jason chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I can't imagine Tim at one of our Christmases, either. But Kala … you know they're gonna ask. We had to play divert-the-questions at Thanksgiving already, and half our family is reporters. Sooner or later, they're gonna want details."
Kala leaned her head into her hands, letting her breath out slowly. "Sooner or later I may decide to share some details. But … it's still too new. For both of us. I've never done this before, Jase. Not with another cape. And shit, his dating history is … massively fucked. He's never done this before either."
He reached across to take her hands. "Look, Kal, you're my sister. I love you. If you're happy, I'll dodge questions for as long as you want."
"I am happy," she admitted with a lopsided smile. The only thing that would make her happier would be having Sebast back in the band, back in her life, but there was no way to do that without a whole host of other complications.
"Good," Jason said. "Maybe between now and Christmas we can work out some kind of cover story."
She winced a little, giving him a hesitant smile. "We'll have to. Jase … Alfred invited me to Wayne Manor for Christmas. Well, after Christmas, anyway. Any time Christmas week, really."
He raised a dark eyebrow at her, but instead of telling her off, Jason just shook his head with a very Jason smile, sunny and wry at the same time. "At least they do one thing like normal people. And he gets to bring his girlfriend for the holidays."
"No, Alfred does something like normal people," Kala pointed out. "I still don't know how Jay feels about it."
"If he's not thrilled to have you there, I'll kick his ass for you," Jason said, too eagerly, and Kala mimed throwing her napkin at him.
At least they were saved further conversation by the waiter arriving with dessert.
…
Harley counted bills just for the fun of it, really; she trusted Selina not to stiff them. It was nice just to hold a thousand dollars in her hand, test the weight of the bills, then break the band and count through them leisurely. One hundred hundred-dollar bills. And she had two hundred and eighty stacks like this, almost three hundred grand, all hers. Which meant Selina had paid Oswald mostly out of her own share, most likely, but hey, she could afford to be generous. She was dating that himbo billionaire Bruce Wayne, a fact that amused Harley. She wondered if the guy knew about Batman, or Holly Robinson, or any of Selina's other dalliances. Probably not, but then, Harley didn't judge other people's romantic issues.
She'd handled more money at various times, back in the day – she'd once slipped seven million dollars worth of loose diamonds into her cleavage for safekeeping – but this was all hers, and hers alone. Every other time she'd had her hands on enough cash or valuables to make her feel lightheaded, it belonged to someone else. Usually Joker.
Her mouth drew down into a scowl at the mere thought of his name, rage twisting her chest and blanking her vision out with red. Some small part of her mind – the part that used to wear glasses just to look older and wiser and more clinical, what a sap – noted the reaction, murmured about flashbacks and delayed responses, and contemplated therapeutic options.
Most of her believed the best therapy would be beating Joker's laughing face in. And not stopping, this time, just really going to town on him, swinging until her arms were tired and his entire face was red pulp. A baseball bat or a mallet would make it impossible to get into the hospital, but an IV pole could come in handy. It'd take more hits to do the kind of damage she wanted, with less mass, but she was nothing if not determined.
And Harley sighed, dropping her head into the pile of banded bills on her bed, because no one would let her do what she really wanted. Even if she did manage to break into the hospital, someone would call the cops or a Bat before she was finished obliterating Joker. She might get to kill him, but she wouldn't get to destroy him. The only way she'd ever manage that would be to get him alone someplace where she could really take her time. Torture wasn't her thing, she'd prefer to kill him quickly, but there was a certain satisfaction in lingering over methods of dismemberment and dissolution. Maybe just a really good wood-chipper…
Violent revenge is rarely as cathartic as we expect it to be, Dr. Quinzel murmured in her head.
"Shut up, Doc," Harley whispered aloud.
How was she supposed to deal with this, anyway? A couple weeks of freedom – real freedom, not just a temporary reprieve from the abuse, time spent with someone who actually did like her company, who wanted her here, and who was damn near ecstatic at the thought of her never leaving again – was finally showing her just how wrong her relationship with Joker had been. At least once a day, she said something or did something or just laughed a little too loud, and caught herself thinking, Uh-oh, Pam hates it when I do that, here we go, and Pam just … didn't. One of the most feared villains in Gotham, arguably the most powerful of all the rogues, and her typical expression of annoyance was to roll her eyes and tug Harley close for a kiss. Usually while murmuring, "Please stop that," but still. It was kind of a head trip when Harley kept expecting a fist in the gut or the kind of scathing diatribe that would bring tears to her eyes. Or it would have, if she didn't already know crying would just get her beaten anyway.
On one level, Harley knew Pam was being very careful. This was exactly what she'd wanted, for Harley to leave Joker and stay with her, so she was doing that honeymoon thing where everything one's partner did was cute, at worst. And she wouldn't let herself express any anger she was feeling, anyway, knowing how vulnerable Harley was to it.
It really was a special kind of hell, being able to psychoanalyze herself and everyone around her.
On another level, she was waiting for the inevitable, for things to go bad, for Pam to turn on her, and she couldn't quite shake the feeling that she deserved it. Look how she'd treated Pam for years, using her and casting her aside over and over again. She'd come to Pam when she was broken, get patched up and nursed back to health and oh yeah, righteously laid, then run back to Joker again. It was horrible, and Pam would've been justified in cutting Harley off at any time. Surely she was justified in demanding a higher standard from her now, in expecting more, and enforcing it however she chose. Surely Harley deserved a little payback for making her suffer.
The thing was … Pam didn't see it that way. Harley hadn't missed the fact that every plant in their hideout was currently flowering, never mind that it was December. Pam tried to be aloof, and she'd never been the most demonstrative person, but she made it very hard for Harley to doubt that she was wanted and loved and adored. She woke up every morning in Pam's arms, half a dozen times a day Pam would drop a kiss on her shoulder or just smile at her so indulgently that Harley's heart skipped a beat, and she damn sure didn't have to beg for Pam's attention in the bedroom, either. Or the shower, or the living room, or on the kitchen counter, as a matter of fact, even if that last had been a little awkward when Selina showed up to bring them their share of the cash.
She was also cynical enough to know that the sheer amount of endorphins floating around in her system at any given time probably made her clinically high. Great sex was like that sometimes. The thing was, if Pam wanted her in a serotonin and dopamine haze, she didn't have to do it the old-fashioned way. One kiss could knock Harley off her feet, if Pam wanted; she was only immune to toxins, after all. Hell, Pam could do anything she wanted to Harley's mental state at any time. Any meal or drink or even a simple touch could've been laced with psychoactive substances. The thing that continually surprised Harley was how it just never happened. That wasn't an advantage most people would pass up. Hell, even Selina cut her a look like she'd cheerfully dope Harley's drink just to tone down her more frenetic moods. Pam never did anything like that, unless Harley asked her to.
There were still some things they weren't talking about, and what to do next was the biggest one. Pam wanted out of Gotham; Harley was fine with that, really, but she wanted to kill Joker first. If she left while he was alive, it felt like running away, and she never wanted to run again.
Realistically, she knew there was a lot of work in her future, the kind of work she'd always encouraged other people to do, without ever realizing how damn hard it was. There were coping mechanisms to unlearn, internalized negativity to dismantle, self-hatred and blame to root out. Harley just didn't feel like she could get started on any of that without putting Joker in the ground first.
A cold nose pressed her arm, and she rolled onto her side, reaching out to scratch Bud's head. A couple weeks of healing were doing wonders for him, too. The surgical drains were out, and his fur was growing back. He moved more freely now … but he was more cautious than he had been. For the time being, Lou was the top dog. Harley rubbed his big round ears, and murmured, "Besides, I owe him for you, don't I, Buddy-boy? Yeah, Mama's gotta show that bad man what happens to someone who hurts her little baby, yes she does. Mama's gonna teach him a lesson."
Bud just whined softly, leaning into her hand. "Maybe I'll feed him to you," Harley whispered. "Would you like that, Bud? Would you like to munch the hand that shot you? I don't know, baby, maybe he's so mean he'd make you sick. Maybe Mama will just have to settle for chopping him up into itty-bitty pieces. There's plenty of things in the bay that can eat 'im and not get sick."
Pam came to the door then, and Harley winced a little. Pam didn't exactly encourage her revenge fantasies; she didn't discourage them, either, and probably had some of her own. Harley imagined Joker strangled by thousands of thorny vines, scraping his skin right off, caustic sap leaking into his bloodstream. She imagined that laugh of his choking on foliage, his eyes pierced by long thorns, his body torn apart by the same strength that tree roots used to shatter stone and concrete, his blood watering a garden of retribution. Oh yeah, she probably had epic plans, and it wouldn't surprise Harley to learn that Pam was in favor of torture.
But that didn't mean Pam wanted to talk about it. The more macabre her own personal feelings on the subject, the less she wanted to encourage Harley toward revenge. Maybe in her mind, this was the worst thing she could do to Joker – steal his Harley, and keep her, forcing him to live with the knowledge that Harley didn't need him.
Looked at that way, maybe running off to somewhere tropical was a good idea.
But for now, Pam had a serious look in her eyes, and Harley offered her a tremulous smile. Pam sighed, walking in, and nudged Bud gently aside to sit down beside Harley. She just rubbed Harley's back, and she looked worried.
Harley bit her lip. "I wasn't really serious," she said. "I mean, about the whole feedin' him to the boys thing. I just get so mad about what he did to Bud…"
"You have a right to be angry," Pam murmured, her hand tracing slow, gentle circles over the tense muscles along Harley's spine. "I wouldn't blame you for that. Never."
Letting out a sigh, Harley asked, "Then … what is it?"
Pam bent down and kissed her temple, nuzzling against her hair for a moment that seemed to stretch far too long. "Have you looked at your phone in the last ten minutes?" she asked softly.
"No," Harley said, glancing at it where it lay on the bedside table, hooked up to her charger. "Why?"
The hand rubbing her back slowed, and finally stopped, Pam wrapping an arm around Harley's waist. When she spoke, her voice was soft and wary, close by Harley's ear. "I have someone in the hospital. Joker just broke out."
…
Jay and Kala were on patrol, just another ordinary night in the Rotten Apple, and they chased a couple of Dent's guys into a warehouse. The hair on the back of Jay's neck bristled, remembering Black Mask and the close call they'd had with his boys. He tightened down on that, though, focusing on the men fleeing from him.
Kala could've snatched them up in a heartbeat, but she was hanging back for him, pacing herself so he didn't get left in the dust. The way he had the last few times she'd broken out the full range of her powers. He grinned beneath his helmet at finally getting her to be careful…
… but there was no hiding what she was, and what she could do. And no point in having a meta in Gotham if he didn't let her use everything he'd taught her. "Go get 'em, Blur, I'll catch up," he laughed.
She laughed, too, and kicked in the speed just as the two men disappeared through a big rolling door.
Jay caught up seconds later, throwing himself through the door recklessly. Kala was there ahead of him, she'd handle any overt threat first, the only thing now was making sure he actually got a piece of the action. They must have been running uphill, because the warehouse opened into a basement, a damp concrete floor beneath his feet and pipes running along the ceiling overhead. The lighting was dim, and Jay automatically swung to his left, trying to put a wall at his back and assess potential threats.
Always the left. Most people turned toward their dominant hand when choosing a random direction, and most people were right-handed. So any opponent that knew how that about handedness and how un-random most choices were would expect him to be going right. Left gave him slightly better odds.
Jay heard laughter, in the dark, and all his senses went to high alert. Joker. Rage bloomed in Jay's chest; for all he'd hesitated, not wanting to kill without being certain of his own motives, he knew that faced with the clown himself he'd pull the trigger without a second's hesitation. And he had Kala here, she'd promised she wouldn't let him face Joker alone. God, how good it felt to know he had someone on his side, no questions asked, as he faced off against his nightmare.
"Show yourself, you fucking freak," Jay snarled, gun drawn.
Instead, he heard a pained whimper from the dark, and an icy fist clutched his guts. Where was Kala?!
"I'd rather show you something else, little dead bird," Joker crooned from somewhere.
The light was too dim, Jay tried to switch to night vision, but his helmet couldn't compensate. He threw it off in a fury, heart hammering, and roared, "Blur! Fall back!"
No answer, except a choked-off furious sound. Jay ran forward, not caring if he got himself shot. He heard another noise, a female voice in a wordless snarl of pain and rage, and he knew. His life was worthless if he didn't stop this.
Jay skidded into a small room, poorly lit by a dull green glow. To his horror, he saw the walls lined with green crystals, pulsing with that evil light.
"Hello, Robin," Joker murmured, and Jay swung around. Somehow Joker had gotten behind him … and he was holding Kala up by her throat.
By a crowbar pressed tight to her windpipe, cutting off her air, Joker yanking it back to keep Kala crushed against his chest. Her eyes were already wide and bloodshot, and she was still struggling, but just barely. If not for the kryptonite she could've wrapped that fucking crowbar around his neck.
"Kala!" Jay screamed, and the cold cloak of battle-readiness hadn't dropped over him. All he felt was terror. He couldn't lose her, not like this, he couldn't watch the spirit in her eyes die. Not like this. She couldn't die in the dark at the hands of a madman, not when she was light and life and joy to him.
Bringing his gun up, he aimed squarely at Joker's eye, and pulled the trigger. Fuck the moralizing, fuck the doubt, fuck the repercussions, fuck all of it, he'd kill the sonofabitch to save Kala. He had plenty of time, once that bullet blew Joker's diseased brains out he could drag Kala out of her, get her into the light, she could heal damn near anything…
With inhuman speed, Joker yanked Kala up, into the firing line, and…
Jay screamed.
The bullet took her in the forehead. Green kryptonite everywhere, her invulnerability was gone, and that face he loved so much was suddenly just a mask, all the expression gone from it. Her features went slack, her eyes rolled up, and blood began to spill thickly from the bullet hole. And from her mouth and nose, blood like a waterfall, the mind that fascinated him turned to bloody mush by the impact of his bullet.
"Whoops! Think you missed there, dead bird!" Joker cackled, roaring with laughter. "Aw, too bad, so sad, guess you won't mind so much when I put you down!"
He dropped her, just let her fall, and Jay scrambled to catch her, his mind short-circuiting. He couldn't stand to hear the sound of her body hitting the concrete floor. It couldn't be, this couldn't happen, he couldn't let this happen. Kala couldn't die, not on his watch, not at the hands of the Joker, not from Jay's own bullet.
Jay just barely managed to catch her, Kala ragdoll-boneless in his hands, and the phrase dead weight had never been more horribly accurate. He couldn't even scream, his throat locked up, and when he saw Joker raise the crowbar again, Jay didn't even think to fight. He just curled himself over her body and closed his eyes…
The sound of shattering glass woke him. Jay sat bolt upright in bed, soaked in sweat, aware of a terrible low groaning noise in his throat. All he could see was Kala's bloodied face … and then suddenly she was right there, absurdly dressed in pajamas with a trail of glass fragments sparkling like diamonds behind her all the way to the window. Her hands were on his shoulders, her voice was asking if he was okay, her eyes were frightened but alive, thank fucking God she was alive, and he grabbed her like a drowning man seizing a life preserver. The way he yanked her close and clutched her tight would've bruised any mere human. Jay buried his face in her hair, took a deep breath of that candied-violet smell, and shuddered so hard he thought he'd rattle right out of his skin.
Kala ended up in his lap, her hands moving over his back, and he heard her speaking as if from a long distance away, saying everything was okay, it was just a nightmare, she was here and he was safe. She didn't know. He wasn't the one who needed protecting, she was. And his own miscalculation had killed her in the nightmare.
It was his bullet that killed her. Joker's handiwork, but his doing.
Jay took a deep gulping breath of air, but his lungs still ached. He tried again, and again, gasping desperately, but nothing eased the crushing weight on his chest. Kala tried to pull back and he clutched her even closer with a strangled wordless cry, still shaking uncontrollably. The pain in his chest only increased, and that would've made him laugh in any other circumstances, here he was dying of a fucking heart attack because of a stupid goddamn nightmare…
Kala managed to pull herself away just enough to look him in the eye, and catch his chin, holding him steady. "Look at me, Jay. Just at me. You're not having a heart attack. This is a panic attack. You're going to be okay, just stay with me."
He whined, his skin feeling too tight, his lungs burning. This wasn't just panic, he was dying, he'd died before and it hadn't bothered him this much even then.
She cupped his jaw in that delicate hand that was stronger than his whole body, and told him in a low soothing voice, "I can hear your heart, Jay, it's fine. Fast, but fine. You're not dying, it just feels like you are. You have to breathe slower, you're hyperventilating."
A fragment of knowledge flicked across his mind – hyperventilating could make a person feel like they were suffocating. But breathing slow was impossible when his whole body screamed for oxygen, when no matter how his lungs tore at the air it felt like nothing was getting in.
Kala pried one of his hands off her back and put it over her heart. "Jay, slow down. Breathe with me. In … hold it … and out." He could feel her chest rising, holding, falling. He could feel her heart, beating fast but not pounding out of her body like his own.
He tried to hold his breath, and it was shaky and weak and he let it out with a plosive rush, snatching at the air again. Kala kept murmuring to him to slow down, her voice almost hypnotic, and little by little he felt like he was getting some oxygen. Just enough to let him breathe somewhat normally, but his chest still ached and his skin was still trying to crawl off his body and he still wanted to scream and run and hang onto her and never let go, all at once.
"It's okay, Jaybird, you're going to be okay, you'll stop feeling like this soon," Kala murmured reassuringly. "Panic attacks always end. I've been there, I know it hurts, but you're going to be okay. Just breathe, Jay, slow and easy."
"Jesus fuck I'm gonna die," he managed to whimper.
She looked at him, her hazel eyes so serious, and rubbed her thumb softly against his lips. "You'd better not. I won't let you."
He managed a half-crazed laugh at that, but it was helping. She was helping. The wild fear eating him up inside began to loosen. "Fuck, Kala, I … I dreamed…"
"It's not real. It's just a dream. It can't hurt you," she told him. "You're here, you're safe, I'm right here with you. I won't let anything happen. I won't let anyone hurt you. God help anyone who tries to."
Jay groaned, still shivering like he had the world's worst fever. His teeth were even chattering. Kala settled herself further into his embrace, and the warmth of her in his arms was helping. "Listen, my therapist taught me something to ground myself when I used to have panic attacks," Kala murmured. "I want you to try it, too, okay? It might help. Will you try this?"
He couldn't quite speak, but Jay managed to nod. Every breath was still shaky, but his chest was finally starting to loosen up. Maybe it wasn't a heart attack after all.
Kala took a deep breath and kissed his brow lightly. "It's a mindfulness thing, a countdown. I want you to find five things you can see, right now. Can you do that, Jay?"
I see your face with a bullet hole in it, he thought, and whined again, tightening his arms around her.
"No, Jay, open your eyes. Five real things, right here in this room. Look around, this is what's real, this is what's here. Five things." She patiently stroked his cheek until he did open his eyes, looking at her first.
Her, real and alive and right here. No blood, no awful blank eyes, not a scratch on her. As a matter of fact the only thing on her… "Batman pajama pants. And my fuckin' shirt," he managed to gasp out.
Kala smiled like he'd just aced a calculus test, and for some bizarre reason her eyes teared up a little. "That's my Jay. Yeah, I sleep in your shirt when I can't sleep in your arms. Three more things?"
His eyes darted around the room. "Broken glass," he muttered.
"Sorry about the window. It's bullet-proof but not Super-proof," Kala murmured. "I'll call someone to fix it later. Two more?"
"Scotch," he mumbled, seeing the bottle atop his dresser. It had migrated over there at some point, instead of being on his night stand, and he really wished it was closer. Glancing at the nightstand, he saw his phone blinking, and named it as the fifth thing.
"Good, Jay. Now four different sounds." Kala moved her hands to his shoulders, rubbing slow, soothing circles into the tense muscles.
"Your voice," he said, feeling his heartbeat slow down at last. "My breathing."
"That's two. What else, Jay? Listen, focus," Kala told him.
There wasn't much to hear, the general rumble of city life outside wasn't something he could pinpoint. A rattle from the kitchen area spooked him for half a second, until he identified it and seized it as a sound to count. "Ice maker!"
"Good. One more," Kala said.
For a moment he was stumped, then Jay barked a shaky laugh. "Fuck. My voice."
"Okay. You're doing good, Jay. Now, tell me three things you can touch."
She was still in his lap, and his hands spread out across her back. "You," Jay mumbled, relief in his voice.
"Two more," Kala reminded him, smiling.
He reached out with one hand, grabbed indiscriminately, and said, "Pillow." Then tossed it aside and put his hand on the hilt of the kris underneath. "Knife." The ornate handle was a soothing weight in his hand. The gun would've been better, but he would've had to look away from Kala to grab it.
"That's good, Jay," Kala replied. "All right, two things you can smell."
"Your perfume," was the easy answer, and he shoved his face into her throat to sniff it deeply. Candied violets, who would've fucking guessed that would become his favorite smell. Only Kala could pull something that sweet off, on anyone else it'd seem like a little kid scent, but something about her made it warm and comforting and deeply her, so nothing else even entered his mind when he smelled it.
She shifted her hands, carding them through his hair, and said quietly, "Good. One more thing?"
Jay sniffed, but all he got was her. He had to sit back a little, not quite noticing how his heart and lungs were calming down from their frantic pace as he focused on her request. Another sniff, and he frowned. "Sweat. Fear-sweat. Ugh."
"We'll get a shower in a minute," Kala promised. "Last thing, Jay, something you can taste."
He swallowed, but his mouth felt dry. There was nothing there, not even the musty fuzz of impending hangover. For once he hadn't even had a shot last night – that was becoming more and more common of late.
So to taste something, he cupped the back of her neck and leaned in, kissing Kala, swiping his tongue over her lips. It was there, but faint. "Vanilla lip gloss," he said, with the ghost of a laugh.
Kala leaned her forehead against him. "Yeah, I gotta give you that one. Good, Jay. How do you feel now?"
"Better," he replied, surprised that it was true. "Like I ran five miles being chased by fuckin' wolves or some shit. Also, little bit like I'm still gonna explode."
"It'll feel like that for a little while," Kala murmured. "Then you're just gonna be tired. Just hollowed out, like you can't feel anything. Don't worry about it, everything resets back to normal eventually. Your body just dumped a month's worth of fight or flight chemicals into your blood all at once, that's all."
"Oh, well, fucking thank my body for that, I really needed that shit tonight," Jay said harshly. "Fucking bullshit."
She sighed, and kissed his cheek. "I'm here. I'll stay here until you're okay again."
Something finally occurred to him, and he looked at the shattered glass – the December air blowing cold into the room – and asked, "How did you get here? How did you know?"
Kala wrapped her arms around him. "Jay, I don't wanna talk about that now. Can you stand? Do you want a shower?"
Even in the midst of a panic attack, he was still too well-trained to miss that evasion. Jay took hold of her shoulders and stared at her intently. "No, tell me now. How did you know to come here?"
"Do you really want me to answer that? Even if it sets off another panic attack?" she asked.
"Fuck it, two for the price of one," Jay said. "Tell me."
Kala drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and cupped his face. "Your phone's blinking. You probably got a message, too. You were just too deeply asleep to hear it. Jay … Babs called me."
He knew, from the moment she hinted it might cause another panic attack he knew. "Joker's out," he said in a raspy voice.
"Yeah. You should probably call Babs, let her know you got the message," Kala said. "Let her know I'm here, too, I didn't respond to her. Once I saw her text and heard your heart rate, I just came as fast as I could."
Jay could only blink. "You can hear my heart from Kansas?"
"I can hear your heart from California," she corrected. "Vacation's over, I'm back at work for two weeks. Thank God the hotel had windows I could open or I'd have an expensive bill to pay there, too."
Jay just stared. This woman could hear his heartbeat from the other side of the continent. And fly here in a handful of minutes to talk him down from a fucking panic attack. Jesus fuck on a motorcycle, Super really was the right name for them, they exceeded every possible expectation without even trying. He clutched her tight to him again, pressing his face against her neck, and let out a groan. The words were right there, God I love you so fucking much, but he couldn't say them, not like this. He let his arms around her and the unashamed tears leaking from his eyes say it instead.
Kala stroked his hair, curling herself around him. "We've got to call Babs and let her know. And get clearance for the Roost. You can't stay here tonight with the window broken, it's too damn cold."
"Can't leave it open," he grumbled.
"You live on the thirty-fourth floor," Kala pointed out. "And you've still got tripwires and alarms. It'll be fine for one night. Now let me use your phone to call Babs. I left mine in California."
Jay sighed against her skin, and decided to let everything else take care of itself for a night. He could trust Kala. "Go 'head," he muttered, already feeling tired. "Gotta reset the 'larms."
She ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head. "It's gonna be okay, Jaybird. I promise." But he tuned it all out, closing his eyes to listen to the steady, fearless beat of her heart, not even paying attention to conversation with Babs. All the safety he needed was right here.