A/N: Hey guys! Finally done with this chapter I hope it is done to your liking as I'm still out a Beta. I'd like to thank those of you who have reviewed this work and thank you so much for the the encouragement and feedback, it means a lot! On a side note, a few of you mentioned that you enjoyed X and Raven at the end of the last chapter and after speaking with a few of you about the interaction, I have decided (and have written) an alternative ending to the last chapter. I just have to finish editing it, so I'm hoping to have it up in the next few weeks. So if you enjoy X/Rae and a little smut, it might be something you'd be interested in lol. So anyway, please let me know what you think and if you notice any grammar errors or anything of that nature please bring them to my attention.
Anyway, hope you enjoy!
With Love -Ophelia
Like Knots In The Noose
Dick finally stumbled upstairs after finishing his beer, his body tired from the day's demand. He opened the door to the apartment and found Raven wrestling with her bag. He entered the room and closed the door, causing her to peer up with an alarmed look.
"Hey," she said and glanced down before he could make eye contact with her.
"Hey," he replied approaching the bed, noticing that she still wouldn't look at him. "Everything okay?"
She turned her head in his direction, her face trying to veil itself with a sterile expression he didn't often see: She was uncomfortable, very uncomfortable. "Just tired, it been a long night… and day… and week."
She was rambling, something she didn't often do, something she only did during her time with Eric. "You're totally baked, aren't you?"
Her face plummeted to the floor and her mouth followed suit. "No," she blurted, her eyes, tired and red, telling a different story.
"Rae," Dick sighed, shaking his head, "it's fine, I don't care."
Her face filled with a perplexed expression. "You don't?"
"No, especially not after tonight. God, I can't even blame you for wanting to burn tonight out of your mind."
Raven relaxed and awkwardly sat down beside him on the bed. "So you're really cool with it?"
"It's your body, I'm not gonna tell you what to do with it." He shifted toward her, looking her in the eye. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm the only Titan who's never taken a hit before."
A mischievous smirk crept across Raven's somber face. "We can change that." She pulled her hair back over her ear, revealing the reasonably sized join tucked behind it.
Dick glared at her a moment and droned tiredly, "Wow, what else are you hiding in places unknown?"
Suddenly, her hand shot out and smacked him on the arm, Dick blurting out a painful chuckle. "Jerk," she laughed, "but seriously, you in?"
"I don't know, Rae, I think I'm a little old to be jumping on the stoner wagon."
"Oh come on, it's just this one time. I promise I'll tell no one, this is just between us. Please?" she whined with big kitten eyes.
Dick looked over at her, somehow feeling persuaded by the look. "You do realize you're using peer-pressure, right?"
"Yep! And I can be very persuasive," she smiled.
"Okay—fine, one hit."
His white hair blew in the furious wind, the chill from that elevation running right through his bones. His head, held high, peered up at the sky, the fading night slipping from existence. The light, however, still appeared bright, its form strong as it embodied that symbol, the one so many people revered and feared.
His knuckles turned white as the cold wind beat against them on the high city rooftop. Then without fail, he heard that arcane voice:
"Commissioner?"
He turned, his white hair still taken with the wind. "Awe, there you are."
The Batman moved from the shadows, a little puzzled with the man's inquisitive tone. "Did you think I wouldn't show?"
He smiled, adjusting his glasses. "No," the Commissioner corrected. "But it's dawned on me that neither one of us is getting any younger. At some point one of us won't show."
The Bat frowned, his scowl not fond of the cryptic words. "I have a feeling I'm not gonna like what you have to say next?"
The older man glanced down at his badge, a rueful look on his worn face. "I'm retiring, Batman," the Commissioner said.
The Dark Knight was quiet a moment, unsure of what to say. He could recall a time before Jim Gordon had become the police Commissioner, a time where the Batman was number one on every head hunter's list. He couldn't deny that his career as Batman had become much more successful and far simpler since Jim had taken over, and truth be told, Bruce couldn't have been the Batman without him.
"May I ask why?" he finally said after a long pause.
"I'm getting too old," the Commissioner replied. "I don't know how many races I have left in me. You're no spring chicken yourself; how long have you been the Batman now?"
A reminiscent look filled the hero's eyes as years of endless victories and losses passed by, as though miles on a highway. "Almost 20 years now."
The two men both looked at each other, their faces weathered by time, every line reading of the nostalgia. The Commissioner had only taken over a year after Batman had donned his mantle, the two recognizing that to save Gotham; they would have to work in tandem. Long nights spent keeping watch over the city, resulted in tired and scarred eyes from the imagery they'd endured. Bruce noticed the Commissioner's old trench coat as it blew in the wind, the garment faded and worn, just as weathered as the man who donned it—the man people looked to uphold the law. Bruce, himself, was also no spring chicken: His cape and cowl were torn and even worn-out in places, his armor was scuffed and nicked from the battles he'd fought, both won and lost. The price you pay for enforcing order.
As the years passed, the vigilante and lawman shared countless victories and had become something of close friends. They both knew their success could not have been achieved without the aid of the other: The Bat knowing that without the cooperation of the Gotham Police Force, the efforts of the Batman would be futile, while the Commissioner recognized that the Bat could conduct himself in a manner an officer of the law could not.
"I'm gonna miss you, Jim, I honestly mean that."
"Thanks," the Commissioner smiled, "but I'm not leaving quite yet, I'm gonna wait it out till the end of the year, hit my full 25."
The Bat smiled, a little happy to hear that he'd have time to get used to the Commissioner's exit. "Well then, we have a little more time to do some good."
"That we do." The Commissioner removed a manila envelope from his trench coat and handed it to the Dark Knight.
"What's this?"
"I'm sure you heard about the fire earlier today?" The Bat nodded and the Commissioner continued, "Well, there was only one fatality, a scumbag pimp by the name of Richard Walker. The body was burned pretty badly, but that wasn't what killed him."
"Gunshot?" the Bat said looking down at the report in his hands.
The Commissioner nodded. "Yep, the fire was caused by a bullet that hit an old gas tank, caused the whole place to go up."
"Any leads yet?"
The Commissioner nodded. "Just one. You're not gonna like it."
"You think Red Hood had something to do with this?"
Gordon paused, realizing his tone of voice must have tipped the old hero off. "He and his crew were seen in the area. Theory is that Walker might have been pimping out a few girls in the Hood's part of town, he apparently had a history of doing so with underage girls, but no one could ever get the charges to stick."
"You think Red Hood put him down," Bruce said sternly, though it was hardly a question.
"Yeah," Gordon confirmed, "I know that's hard for you to hear."
"Well, you're probably right," Bruce said placing the report back in the envelope, noticing something inside. "So is this the DNA evidence you need to lock up your theory?"
"No," the Commissioner grimaced, "that's actually something entirely different. There were also several bodies found in the river, probably a completely different incident, but when we were pulling them from the river, we found one at the bottom that had been reduced to skeletal remains."
"How long do you think it'd been down there?"
"It's hard to tell," the Commissioner replied, "the medical examiner thinks anywhere from 15 to 20 years, but it will take further analysis to determine."
"You want me to do that analysis?"
"They don't call you the world's greatest detective for nothing," The Commissioner joked. "But yes, we couldn't match the bones to any existing dental records, the next step is to try DNA, but as far as the budget's concerned, there's not room for a 20 year old case that may have no chance of closure."
"So then just ask the Batman?"
The Commissioner smiled. "Well, we both know that you have access to far more DNA databases than we do, and… well, I just have an odd feeling about this one. You ever get that?"
"All the time," Bruce replied and tucked the report away, "I'll look into it."
"Thank you," the Commissioner replied, grateful.
And with a glance, the Dark Knight was gone, only one last flick of his cape fleeting behind him. The Commissioner pulled the switch, his old hand weary, knowing those days were coming to a reluctant end. But it was something he knew he would have to face sooner or later. Sure, he could go on another 10 years, but for what? There was too much the future had to offer and he wanted to be there to see his daughter embark on hers. He wanted to hopefully see his future grandchildren and gain back that aspect of family the two had lost after the death of his wife.
But still, there was something about letting go of the job that felt empty, something he just couldn't grasp, but would grudgingly have to.
Raven looked over at Dick as she took one last drag of the joint, Dick already slipping off into a daze.
"Oh my God, you are so baked," she giggled, stubbing out the last of the roach.
He glanced over at her and laughed at the hazy reality. "Shit I totally am," he mumbled and smiled oddly.
"How's it feel?"
"Like my attention span is going to implode—that's a weird word—implode…"
Raven giggled. "Yep, you, Richard Grayson, are blazed off your ass."
"No thanks to you," he grinned, staring at her.
"Hey, I'm a horrible influence, Bruce tried to warn you."
"Bruce is an asshole."
Raven couldn't help but laugh, knowing the wrath of Bruce a little too well, both in first and second hand experience.
"Seriously though, he doesn't think I can do anything," Dick lamented.
"That's not true," Raven finally said, "he's just overprotective is all. He's like that because he cares."
"Yeah, about his reputation."
"And your reputation," the empath added, trying to ease the flames.
Dick looked away, not feeling charitable. "What do you think he's gonna do when he finds out what we're doing?"
"I don't really wanna think about it," Raven replied. "I just hope with any luck, he won't. It would be pretty epic though."
Dick grinned impishly as though he were a mischievous child. "This is gonna sound bad, but part of me really wants to see the looks on the Leaguer's faces', like what would they even say?"
"I have an idea," Raven muttered coldly, "they'd probably blame me. Y'know, he wouldn't have done it if it weren't for that Eve."
Dick glanced over at her. "I wouldn't let them think that."
"I know you wouldn't, but they'd think it anyway."
He frowned and leaned over her prone body. "They can think what they want, but you're a hero, Raven, you're more of a hero than me."
Her face fell, his expression earnest and pained. "I wouldn't have become a hero if it weren't for you," she said propping herself up on her elbows. "I could never have been one without you."
He smiled down at her, her kind eyes staring up at him as he hovered above her. "You were meant to be a hero, Rae."
"No, you were," she corrected. "I became a hero because it was the only hope I had of stopping my father—the only hope I had of saving myself. You became a hero because it was who you were. It's still who you are."
Dick glanced away from her. "I don't know if that's true anymore."
She turned on her side and pulled herself up to meet him at eye level. "It is true." She reached out and took his chin in her hand, guiding his gaze to her once more. "You will always be a hero, Richard. You saved me from myself when no one else could, you've shown me what it meant to be human and you helped me see that I could have a family. But most importantly, you taught me to be a hero."
Dick momentarily smiled, though hardly there. He didn't outwardly like the idea of saving her, but inwardly, he loved it. "I couldn't have done any of that if you didn't allow me to, Raven."
"I only allowed it because it was you who believed in me."
His smile spread, becoming more genuine. "Well, I guess it's good we have each other then…"
Raven returned the grin and bit her lip coyly. "Yeah, we make a great team."
"But you're still a bad influence, Rae… I am so fucking toasted."
She laughed and wrapped her arms around her stoned counterpart. "I know and I'm sorry. Drink some milk."
"Milk? What?"
"Yeah milk," Raven replied tiredly. "There's something about the chemical makeup of it, or what-the-hell-ever, that counteracts the effects of THC and helps take the edge off."
"That's total bullshit," the hero laughed.
"I don't know, maybe?" Raven conceded. "But it would explain why my high goes down after I polish off a heap of Oreo's and a glass of milk."
"You were kind of a stoner for a while, there, weren't you?"
"Not as much as Gar was and still kinda is."
"True," Dick replied staring up at the ceiling, Raven still clinging to his chest, the two of them growing heavy.
"Dick?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I'm a cold hearted bitch?"
His eyes widened as he glanced over at her. "No, why."
"I don't know, I just feel like everyone else does."
"They don't think that." She glared back at him questionably, causing him to walk back his reply. "Okay, maybe some people think that, but it's just cause they don't know or understand you."
"I know and I honestly don't care, I just—I don't know—wonder if you ever see me like that?"
Dick took a deep breath, meeting her eyes. "I wouldn't go as far as to refer to you like that, I mean, yeah you can be coarse and unyielding, but that's only because you had to be and understandably so, but, that doesn't mean that that's all there is to you."
"So I'm a bitch with a heart of gold?"
"Kinda," he laughed again, "but I love you for it."
"Aww," Raven cooed in a hazy tone, "You can be a stubborn prick sometimes, but I love you for it too."
Dick smiled and let his fingertips graze her long dark hair, as though he were petting a cat. Raven relaxed and closed her eyes, the sound of his heart soothing as it beat steadily beneath her. Dick's eyes fluttered shut, taking a deep, calm breath, his mind taken with the temporary peace he felt. He let out a few more deep breaths as sleep became him and the two drifted off. All the while as song played in his head, it's beauty and thoughtfulness taking him away from the world and away from the guilt.
She awoke to the sound of "B&E" and rose from the bed, unable to sleep. The old Misfits shirt she liked, hung off her thin frame as she looked back at her sleeping boyfriend, thinking to herself how "Nineteen Ninety Heaven" suited them better. Life really was a nightmare, she could say that for them both. Her white hair had taken on a gold hue as the rising sun leaked in through the glass. She reached for her pants, pulling them over her bare legs and fastened the buttons with nimble fingers. She pulled off the old T-shirt, the scent of her lover still lingering on it. She let it fall to the floor and picked up her own black sweater, pulling it over her head. She tugged her alpine hair free, tucking some loose strands behind her ear and picked up her coat to leave. Then a firm hand grasped her wrist.
She looked back at the man as he lifted himself from the bed tiredly. "Taking off?" he sighed through sleep and pulled her close.
She nodded. "Yeah I can't sleep; figured I go for a walk."
"A walk?"
"Yeah, y'know, that thing you do on two legs," she smiled. "That thing you used to do when you couldn't sleep?"
"Oh, yeah, that thing," he lazily patronized. "Then I discovered alcohol."
"Yeah I think I'm gonna skip drinking the pain away this go around," she smiled promiscuously. "But I'm gonna head out, hopefully get my head on straight."
"Okay."
His rough hands enveloped her face as she leaned in and kissed him. "And Jason, thank you."
"Anything for you, Rosie."
The sun crept in through the window by the bed, the warm rays hitting the hero's face as he slept in a nearly unmovable state. He still wore his clothes from the night before, which was nothing new. His body was always too tired to notice or care. But for the first time in a long while, his mind seem void and quiet, numb in the most peaceful way possible. Then a loud knock rapped at the door.
"Dick, wake up!" Jason called. "You start on the bar today, be downstairs in 30 or I'll beat the shit out of you!"
Dick awoke to the unpleasant sound, his eyelids impossibly heavy. "Fuck you," he grumbled a bit groggy and hungover.
"Seriously, Dick-Head, I'm not kidding, don't make me come back up here!"
He could hear Jason's boots thud down the hall, and placed his hand to his brow, shielding his stinging eyes from the sun. He attempted to adjust his body, but realized there was something preventing him from doing so. He peered down to find Raven still curled up beside him, her head nestled on his chest and her arms wrapped tightly around him. He exhaled, letting his hand find the top of her head. His fingers stroked her dark hair again, its silky texture kind to his fingertips. On inhale, he could just smell the sweet scent of her hair, its flowery intake leaving him with a distant sense of longing. He just didn't have the heart to move her, but he had to.
"Hey," he whispered, brushing some hair out of her face.
She let out a small groan and her brow creased as she stirred from her sleep. Her deep eyes then fluttered open, residual sleep still burrowed deep in her gaze. She turned her head and placed her chin on his chest, her mind a little disjointed.
"Umm, what time is it?" she queried, a sleepy sound leaving her voice, thin and hoarse.
"It's like 7," Dick replied, "I'm apparently the resident bartender today, so I gotta get up."
It was then she realized that she'd been using her former leader as a body pillow for the better part of her slumber. "Oh—sorry."
He smiled, his hand and forearm tucked snuggly under his neck. "It's okay, I don't really care." He yawned and closed his eyes. "God, I'm beat. For all the days to give me an actual job to do."
"Yeah, seriously. I haven't been this tired since… I don't even know."
Dick laughed as her head fell to his chest in sleepy despair. "I get that… but I gotta shower, I still feel dirty."
"I never want to see dirt again."
"Something tells me that's not gonna go well for you."
Her hand popped up and slapped his chest pathetically, still it was just enough to make him flinch.
"So violent."
"You should really get going," the young blonde said, wrapping a black robe around her nakedness.
X sat up, letting his wrists hang over his knees. He found the image of her standing in the premature sunlight stunning. The way the gold bounced off her light flaxen hair was intoxicating as it framed her face like a masterpiece. However, to say that their connection was anything more than a business arrangement, would have been an understatement.
"Yeah," he breathed with a sigh, "I know how you feel about your personal life and work."
She glanced back at him, dismissively. She could be so cold, but he just didn't care. "I just like my privacy."
"I know." X finally pulled himself out of her bed, feeling a little discarded, but hardly thought about it. She was, after all, not his first choice. "Mind if I shower first, Trilby?"
She shrugged with a passive nod and the thief began to move toward the bathroom.
"Thanks," he said, pausing a moment to lean in and kiss her, more of a nicety than anything. She mustered a smile, but hardly felt it.
He pulled away and left the room, making his way into the bathroom and closed the door. Within moments, the water began running and the barmaid reached for a phone she had hidden in her jewelry box, flipping it open to find a new text message.
Behind the Iceberg Lounge, 12:30.
Trilby hit the reply key and typed one word:
Ok.
Jason sat at a table in the bar, a lit cigarette resting on his lips. His mind wandered sluggishly, thumbing through the events of the last few days, trying to deduce whether his end goal would fall in sight. He thought about something Dick had said only the day prior, about a low level gang trying to climb up the food chain by taking on the biggest dog in the yard. Or possibly even at the whim of a bigger dog. However, before he could completely immerse himself in the idea, he spotted Jinx as she approached the front door, tired and listless.
She unlock the old bolt and pushed the weathered door open, its hinges whining in reluctance. Her hair was a bit of a mess, the pink locks thrown up in a high bun and a sugar skull bandana tied around her crown, her pink fringe just at her eyes. She was normally more put together than this, but considering the night's previous activities, Jason wasn't shocked.
"You look perky."
"You look like shit," Jinx muttered not even looking back at him and placed her bag on the bar.
"That's nothing new." Jason flicked off the ash on his cigarette. "You're in early, I thought that you'd take the morning off?"
"Yeah," she sighed, "I'm just not one to sit around, plus we have shit to take care of."
"Yeah I was just thinking about that."
"Really," she patronized. "This didn't happen to include thinking all the ways you're little fuck toy is fucking your life up?"
He smiled at her crassly. "Yeah I'm not talking to you about that. Next subject please."
She crossed her arms and shook her head. "You're just lucky I'm too tired to fight you on it, but make no mistake, that—whatever the fuck that is—It's a problem."
"Noted," Jason droned dismissively and sipped his coffee. "Move on."
"Okay then." She lifted the coffee pot with annoyance and began to pour. "Do you really think what Dick said might be true?"
"About there being a bigger picture?"
"Yeah," she nodded.
"It's not out of the question. In fact, it's probably very much a reality, and it makes sense. We've been dealing with a lot of shit lately. There's a good chance someone might have it out for us…"
A look of worry surfaced in her tired pink eyes. "But who?"
Jason shrugged. "That's a really long list."
Just then they heard Dick stumble down the stairs, his hair still damp from his shower.
"You're late," Jason said as Dick entered the bar.
"Like I care," he said passively.
"Well someone is a wee bitchy this morning," Jason replied rather dull.
"That's cause some asshole woke me up at 7!"
"Shut the fuck up, you get up earlier than that all the time," Jason defended, tired of his tone.
"Uh, not after a night like last night!"
"Life goes on," the Outlaw droned, "you'll get over it. Now, how familiar are you with alcohol?"
Dick only stared at the Outlaw, his gaze slightly patronizing. "Pulling beer isn't exactly a life skill."
"No," Jason laughed ironically, "but pouring it is."
Dick smiled coldly. "You're gonna be a total prick about this, aren't you?"
"Anything to make your life difficult," Jason reassured.
"You're an asshole."
"Well assholes run the show, now get behind the bar, peasant."
Within time, Clancy came in and began going over the more intricate details of how and why one must pour beer from the tap. Dick, himself, found the whole lesson trivial, but placed his disrespectful words aside, not wanting to belittle the kind girl.
"Oh good, you're a fast learner," Clancy beamed.
Dick smiled, fighting the urge to be a sarcastic cunt toward her. "Yeah, I try."
"Well it's pay'n off." She placed a mug down in front of him with a warm smile. "I think you've earned this."
"Oh thank God," Dick sighed, taking the coffee in his hands with urgency. He reached for the sugar, pouring a slightly alarming amount into the dark liquid.
"Shit, Chuckles," X mused, "you want some coffee with your diabetes? Christ."
"If I'm gonna get through today, I'm gonna need a lot more of this." He lifted the mug and placed it to his lips, taking a generous swig. He'd been told a time or two that lacing his coffee with an overwhelming amount of sugar was unnecessary, Bruce even going as far to proclaim him a coffee heathen, but he found the ridicule benign.
It was nearly 9 AM when Raven finally made an appearance. She entered the bar somewhat rested and freshly showered, her hair still vaguely damp as she'd given up on drying it completely. Instead, her usually straight locks were left tousled and imperfect, leaving her looking a little less defensive.
"Look who finally rose from the dead," Dick drawled.
"That was a bold choice of words, you Dick." She sat down at the bar a moment looking at him quizzically. "So how's it feel to be part of the Working Class, Boy Wonder?"
"Ha ha, you slay me," he droned, "and it's not horrible, but I'm tired as fuck."
"Yeah, you look like shit too."
"Oh thanks, Rae, you're the best."
She smiled at him playfully. "Well you're in an awfully bitchy mood this morning."
"Well you would know, didn't you invent bitch, remember?"
Raven laughed, hardly insulted. "Wow, you really are in a mood, huh? And no I did not. I just put my own spin on it. Y'know, like I'm gonna do to your face if you keep up this little tude of yours."
"And there it is," Dick smiled smugly. "Tea?"
"Sure, but can I get it to go, I'm gonna go check on Roy, make sure he's okay."
"That's a good idea," Dick added, taking out a cardboard cup. "I'd go with you, but I'm stuck here catering to those who won't acknowledge Step One."
"Well at least alcoholics help the economy."
"You're very glass half full today."
"And you're Mr. Glass Half Empty," Raven patronized, taking the cup in her hand, "I'm gonna head out, have fun earning minimum wage."
"I will. You go have fun in the shittiest part of Gotham, send me a postcard."
"You keep being a dick and I'm gonna shove that postcard up your ass."
"Sounds delightful," he said flatly, Raven actually feeling a little pride for his tone.
"It's moments like this where I honestly think that Bruce has a point."
"What might that be?"
"That I really am a horrible influence on you."
"I had to learn to be a wiseass from someone, might as well have learnt from the best."
"Well you acknowledged my brilliants, so for that, I'll let you live another day, Grayson."
"You're too kind." He rolled his eyes, trying to shake off his sarcasm. "And Rae…" She turned looking back at him quizzically. "Be careful, okay…"
Her face softened and her voice followed, "I'll be fine, but I'll call you when I get there, okay?"
"I would appreciate that."
"Alright then, bye."
"Bye…"
Dick watched her go, letting himself steep in the moment. Over the years the two had grown close, they'd seen each other through both trial and tribulation. They knew what it was like to see the world through the other's eyes and they knew how the world perceived the other.
"You guys are so adorable," X teased, taking a sip of his beer and placed it down.
"Fuck you," Dick drawled and took the beer in his hand.
"Hey, I'm not done with that," he protested, displeased.
Dick turned the bottle over, effectively pouring the contents down the drain. "You are now."
"Well there goes your tip, Chuckles, good job."
"And yet, not a single fuck is given."
Rose once again waited in the grand foyer of her father's home, her hands unsteady as she lifted them to her face a moment. Normally, she'd feel less anxious when waiting for an audience with her father, but given the conversation they shared a day prior, she wasn't really sure where she stood with him.
She placed her hands in her lap, letting her dominate hand travel up her opposite arm in a guarded fashion, her eyes cast on the door. She watched intently, waiting for it to open, hoping that with any luck her step mother (if she could even call her that) would be long gone, but no dice.
The door opened and the brunette emerged, a cold and demeaning look on her made up face, as though she were looking down her nose at a piece of dog shit. However, despite this derogative look, the woman said nothing. The look was apparently enough abuse for today.
Rose watched her leave, trying to stand her ground silently, but feared she came up a bit short.
I bet Cinderella didn't have to put up with this bullshit…
With that bitter and somewhat comical thought, the door opened again. She expected it to be Wintergreen, but was shocked to see she was wrong.
"Daddy?"
The man smiled at her gently, a look that was uncommon on his aged face and unsupported by his distinguished frown lines. "Hello Kitten." His tone was smooth and fatherly, unlike the day prior.
He approached her and took a seat by her side, leaving his young daughter confused. Once sat, he positioned himself to face her, as though trying to treat her as an equal. Rose, unsure of what her father was trying to accomplish, looked away, her eyes finding refuge in a grand painting on the wall. The portrait depicting a once whole and seemingly happy family, two beautiful blond boys, both somewhat favoring their smiling parents, who actually appeared to be in love. She'd studied this painting dozens of times, silently longing she were a part of it, that she too were lost within that painting, but alas.
"Kitten, what's wrong," Slade cooed, almost sounding worried—almost.
Rose refused to look away from the painting, finding an odd solace in it. "It's nothing, I just thought you were mad at me?"
"Mad?" Slade questioned gruffly, "why would you think that?"
"Really," Rose laughed turning to face him. She fell for it.
"If you're referring to yesterday, I never said I was mad—"
"What then—just disappointed?"
Slade conceded, momentarily, letting the statement sink in. "Well can you blame me? Is my wanting the best for you really that much of a sin?"
She hated when he spoke to her like that, like she was a foolish child, especially because she blissfully wanted to be. "You have a funny way of showing it."
He leaned back, his stoic eye falling on the painting, now only a distant memory. "Well, that's what happens when you lose a child, you grow cold and sometimes, you forget that you still have other children."
Rose looked away again, and thought of her elder brother—Grant. He would have been in his mid-20's by now, if he were still around. He'd apparently run off one night when he was fifteen and was never heard from again. Still, the family and community searched, exhausting all avenues and hope. There were a few leads, but none of them fruitful. It was as if he'd simply vanished into the night, like a ghost drifting away in the fog.
After this loss, both her father and Adeline had decided it be best to send her other brother, Joseph, away to boarding school, then off to study music at Berkley College in Boston. It was a rarity that he ever came home, which broke his mother's heart, as cold as it was. The saddest part was Rose had never met either of them, she'd never even spoken to them. She didn't know what they were like, nor did she know their passions and prejudices. She could only surmise who they were, how they laughed, whether or not they snorted and snickered like she did, whether or not they were anything like her.
She knew a little about Joseph, or Joey as her father called him, sometimes speaking of him on rare occasions when his guard came down. She knew he was mute, which led her to believe that laughter was a lost privilege to him, but he wasn't always. He'd apparently liked to sing and was quite talented, so much so that even his father was moved by his abilities. He was also a classically trained pianist and loved poetry and theater. Shockingly, Joey received his musical talents from his father (the only gift he'd ever given him). Even Grant had some musical prowess, accomplished with guitar, teaching himself from a very young age, but he never pursued it.
Music was the one thing she knew she had in common with them. Her ability to sing, uncommonly well, was a skill she begrudgingly attributed to her father. She knew he, like Joey, had studied piano and sang in a choir during his childhood. His father, who'd passed long before Rose arrived, was a strict Christian man of military background and held high hopes his son would one day become an accomplished serviceman. And Slade held similar hopes for Grant.
Unlike Joseph, Grant had always taken after his father. He had a taste for war and possessed a tactical cognizance, earning him a coveted spot in one of the country's most prominent military schools. He was going to follow in his father and grandfather's footsteps, Slade even proclaiming that Grant was destined to become a great military general, a dream he once held for himself.
Rose once asked him the reason why her brother ran away, or if anyone knew, but her father only revealed the spars details vaguely: "He couldn't handle the truth, so he ran off to find his own." There was a genuine sadness in his eyes—a guilt, like he would change it if he could. Rose often got a sense that he personally felt responsible for the loss, or that he blamed himself for the fracture his family suffered, yet he never did anything to change it. But then again, maybe he knew he couldn't?
"You miss them?" Rose asked blankly, her father not removing his eyes from the painting.
"All the time."
She felt a little sorry for him, but she also felt a little sorry for herself. She'd never be part of that memory, she'd never be a part of that beautiful family. She couldn't even be a part of it now.
"Do you think Joey's gonna come home this summer?"
"No," Slade breathed roughly, "he already said that he isn't."
"Oh." Her eyes fell from the painting, plummeting to the floor. The image of the golden haired boy distant as she tried to picture him as an adult. She only knew him as a fictional child, it was hard to think of him as anything beyond that. It was hard enough to think of him being anything like her.
"So I suspect that last night's task went smoothly?"
She nodded, her arms crossed stiffly.
"Good," he said, "and the coordinates?"
"Right here." She pulled a small paper from her pocket, the location of the denounced graves scribbled on its face.
"Good girl." He took the paper and held it in his firm hand, aged, but strong from years of holding an iron fist.
He glanced over at her again, trying to catch her gaze and placed a hand on her stiff shoulder. She flinched at the touch as this didn't happen often.
"Rose, look at me." Her body went rigid, her eyes blinking with a ferocity. "Rose…" His hand gripped her shoulder, the pressure making her tense; she turned to him, his solemn eye glaring back at her with intensity. "I know that you're upset with me, that's to be expected, but everything I do, I do for this family, and for you."
Her nails clawed the surface of her flesh. She wanted to scream at him, but instead she once again found her heart moved by this baseless claim, because that was what she wanted, for him to love her, love her the way he loved Grant and Joey. It was all she ever wanted.
"If that's the case, then what about Red Hood?"
Her father removed his hand and leaned back again. "I'll leave him be, for now." He watched as his daughter's face fell, knowing that her love would still be used as a bargaining chip. "If you want him to stay off my radar, then make sure his ambition be tamed." He stood, looking down at his daughter, her quarreled face staring up at him. "I would hate to see you have your heart broken."
She didn't reply, she couldn't. Her voice was too heavy to form sound and her heart too heavy to remain in her chest as it sank.
Slade looked down at her, noticing the devoid look in her eyes. "In future, don't be so green. I know you think he loves you now, but love is fickle, like a budding spring rose, it withers and it dies. Do yourself a favor, and consider the respect you owe yourself. Preferably before you make me a laughing stock."
"What's that's supposed to mean?"
"It means stop acting like a child, Rose. I know you're only 19, but you're my daughter, start acting like it."
Rose snickered a moment. He would say something like that. "I'm sorry I'm not honorable enough for you, Daddy."
"It's not a question of honor," Slade replied coldly, "but the company you keep can impact what people think of you. I thought you would have learnt that lesson after what happened with Johnny Rancid?"
Rose frowned with anger and disappointment. "You still think what that pig said he did to me was my fault."
"No," Slade replied unmoved. "But you entertained the idea and as a result, you stained your reputation."
"I was only trying to get your attention."
"Well you got it," Slade replied with a cruel look. "But putting that aside, I know you're capable of better judgment."
"What, are you gonna play the, you deserve better card or some shit like that?"
"No, you are better," he asserted. "The Red Hood is just some wanna-be crime lord with no chance of ever becoming a king, that's not the kind of man you should maintain."
"What if there isn't a better man?"
"Then don't settle," Slade proclaimed. "If there is no man better, then you don't need one."
It was funny, her father never spoke to her like that. He'd never really taken an interest in her personal life, and maybe he was right, maybe she did deserve better?
"I don't know, maybe you're right?"
"Good Girl," he cooed, a little pride in his voice. He turned toward the door looking back at her. "Well, I have a meeting I need to be getting to. I was thinking maybe you and I could meet for dinner?"
Rose's head perked up, "For real?"
"Of course," Slade replied, "I'm your father; I should get to know you better."
"Why?" she replied, unable to contend with quarrel.
"We'll talk about that at dinner," Slade said and opened the door, the sunlight bleeding on the fair tile. "And Rose…"
"Yeah?"
"Where something less… street rat."
Raven parked her Jeep in front of the decaying building, its bleak face reflecting on her own troubled expression.
"If this isn't rock bottom, I don't wanna go any deeper," she sighed, pulling her bag from the passenger seat and stepping out of the vehicle.
She locked the Cherokee without a second thought and dropped the key in her bag. Raven approached the aging structure and moved up the crumbling steps, passing by a dozing individual, too high to even know if she were real or not.
"Angie?" the woman mumbled incoherently.
Raven stopped and looked down at her. "I'm not Angie."
The woman looked up at her, puzzled and dazed. "She's my daughter… have you seen her?"
Raven didn't really know what to say as she looked upon her greying face, her dry lips cracked while her filthy nails scratched at her broken skin. In her dull eyes she saw something, something that moved her, stalling her heart. It burst a moment, skipping an abrupt beat. She swallowed the feeling and pushed passed the door, the woman calling back at her.
"Angie? Angie baby, where'd you go? Angie…"
Raven closed the coarse door behind her, hoping to close out the voice, and that name. She could still hear her faintly calling, painfully. Pleading to nothing that her daughter be returned. Suddenly her phone rang, startling her. She caught her breath and pulled the phone from the bottom of her bag. It was Dick. She caught her breath and answered it, heading up the stairs to distance herself from the unstable woman.
"Hey."
"Hey, you make it to Roy's okay?"
"Yeah," she sighed reaching the first landing, "I just got here."
Dick paused, he knew something was wrong. "What happened—and don't tell me nothing."
Raven bit her bottom lip and glance down the stairs toward the door, the woman still calling for her missing child from the stoop. "I ran into a homeless woman, she mistook me for her daughter."
"Oh," Dick said, "I can see how you could be unsettled—"
"Dick," Raven cut him off, "she called me Angie."
He didn't say anything for moment, his words unable to form. "Rae… I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault."
"I know, but… that stings, regardless."
"It just caught me off guard is all. I mean, it was just bad timing, I guess?"
"Do you want me to come get you?"
"No," she reassured, "no. I'll be fine. I just need a minute. If I fell apart every time something reminded me of my mother, I wouldn't be able to live my life."
"I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less."
"Thanks…" Raven smiled. "But I'm here so… I gotta make my Intervention appearance as the worried friend, y'know…"
"Okay," he said softly, "let me know how it goes."
"I'll call you when I leave."
"Good luck, Rae."
She smiled, thanking him and ended the call, putting the phone away. She stood in front of the off white door, the number 13 faded and scratched, the cheap gold paint flaking off. She took a deep breath, allowing her hand to rise just under the 13 and knocked.
"Roy, it's Raven, can we talk?" She waited a moment, but he didn't reply; she knocked again. "Roy?"
She placed her hand on the knob, wiggling it to find it locked. "Roy, if you don't answer me, I'm coming in."
Raven looked around to see if anyone was watching; she was alone. She glanced down at her hand, concentrating her energy to dismantle the lock. It was a simple task. She heard a click and easily swung the door open, stepping inside the apartment unnoticed. She was a little disgusted at how filthy it was, the smell of rotting food rippling from the kitchen where a mound of old takeout containers sat, not even tended to. Cigarette butts seemed to multiply in droves, so many that her eyes watered from their stink.
"Jesus Christ." She placed her hand over her mouth and nose. "Roy, where the hell are you?"
She looked around, noticing the bedroom door was slightly ajar. "Roy, you in there?" There was still no reply as she walked toward it, looking quizzically at the cracked door and pushed it open. "Oh my God… Roy!"
She ran to the still archer, who refused to stir on the filthy wood floor. His face was a greying white, his lips turning a deathly shade of blue as he laid unmoving and lifeless. Raven pulled him into her lap, trying her best to keep her panic at bay, but was far from successful.
"Roy… Roy answer me," she begged, slapping his still face. "Roy!"
She had to act quickly, however fearing she was too late. But still, she had to try. She gripped his hand in hers, her black energy slipping into his veins in an attempt to reverse some of the damage invoked by the overdose. He was on the very verge of death, part of her convinced his mind was already lost. She pushed herself to exude as much energy as she could spare, nearly tapping into her own life to do so. Still, he remained unmoved, his color nearly unchanged.
"Roy?" she questioned with a fragile gasp; he still didn't stir.
She began to cry, her heart softly breaking as tears started pouring down her face. An unrelenting sense of failure ripping at her very soul.
"I'm sorry," she whispered a weak sob, repeating the sentiment a few times like a sorrowful mantra.
In this broken and mournful state, she began to think of what she'd say, what sad song she'd sing, what she'd tell Dick, the League—Oliver! With that sharp thought she gasped, trying to bite back the tears when she felt something. It was barely there, she could hardly feel it. She looked down at her hand, still wrapped in Roy's, his faint grasp, his grip clutching her fingers with little strength.
"Roy!" she whimpered. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me?"
It wasn't much, but his grip tightened ever so slightly, though to Raven, it felt like a scream from a distant place.
A few tears spilled from her eyes. "Roy, just hang on, I'm gonna get help."
She tried to pull away, but again he screamed silently, gripping her hand a little firmer.
She paused, holding her phone in her hand. "Roy, I'm gonna ask you a question. Squeeze my hand if the answer is yes. Can you do that?"
He once again pressed her fingers gently, the rest of his body limp in her arms.
"Do you want me to get help?"
His grip loosened, his screams falling silent.
Raven grimaced, it wasn't the response she'd hoped for. "Is it because you don't want Oliver or the League to find out?"
His gripped tightened, this time with faint voracity.
"Okay," Raven sighed. "What if they don't have to, what if Dick and I can help you, would you accept help then?"
He squeezed her hand a long moment, this scream the loudest of all.
"Okay, but this has to stop. You have to get better, this can't happen again."
He squeezed her hand one last time, and Raven whined a sigh of relief. She sat there a moment, Roy's dead weight still laying in her lap as she held him there, thankful that he wasn't gone. That he might actually have a second chance. But now, she had to figure out how she could actually make that happen.
Dick placed his phone back in his pocket, and picked up the tub of fresh glassware. He wasn't looking forward to returning to work, knowing Jason would have some mundane task he'd have to fulfil for simple shits and giggles. With distaste and a methodical eye roll, he turned and headed in that direction.
Like he predicted, Jason was waiting for him just outside the door, catching him off guard.
"Shit!" Dick scoffed, catching his breath. "You know for someone who says, I'm nothing like Bruce, you sure know how to scare the shit out of people."
"It's a gift."
"It's a pain in the ass." Dick placed the tub down on the bar and began putting the glasses away. "So'd you come over here to inform me that this routine task is being performed improperly? Or are you just enjoying the fact that you're making my life miserable?"
Jason shrugged. "Honestly, neither… Well maybe a bit of the latter though," he smiled devilishly, Dick glaring at him with a sarcastic grin. "But seriously, I just want to let you know we have a Meeting later. We still gotta figure out what that ambush was about."
Suddenly the door opened, the two Bat-brothers taking pause at the two men standing there.
"Shit," Dick scoffed, and turned away from the man's direction.
Jason, however, stayed calm, this wasn't the first time James Gordon and company had shown up on his doorstep.
"Commissioner," he said dryly.
"Todd," the man announced stepping inside. "Stupid question, but is the Hood in?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jason said with a chuckle.
"Of course you don't."
Dick kept his back turned and his head down, praying the Commissioner wouldn't recognize him. It had been years since they'd seen one another, after all. Dick fearing that if Gordon spotted him, he'd tell Barbra, and Barbra, would tell Bruce.
"Anybody here wouldn't happen to know anything about a man named Richard Walker, would they?" the Commissioner asked.
"Nope," Jason replied, "doesn't ring a bell. Why you asking?"
Gordon grimaced sardonically, looking over to his partner, Detective Bullock.
"We're asking the questions here, punk," the wide man snorted, ornery as usual."
I see nothing's changed, Dick thought cynically, finishing his task. He then picked up the tub again, trying to scurry into the kitchen unnoticed.
"Gordon, you mind keeping your dog on a leash, you're lucky we let him in here at all," Jason drawled, smirking at the heavy man.
"Why you—"
"Bullock!" the Commissioner ordered.
The chubby detective stopped himself, realizing he'd, once again, lost his cool. Dick couldn't help but giggle at this feral display, wondering how Harvey Bullock was still on the Gotham police force. Dick quickly caught himself, realizing his laugh was the only one to be heard. He could see X through a mirror, cocking his head with an eye roll. The Commissioner looked over at the young man, who was once again on his way to the kitchen with haste.
"Grayson?" the Commissioner questioned, causing Dick to halt awkwardly in his tracks.
"Shit," he scoffed again under his breath, knowing he was caught. He placed the tub down and begrudgingly affronted the faces he was so desperate to hide from. "Hey Jim I—"
"Don't call me that," the Commissioner growled.
Dick's face grew red at the sharp command, he'd never spoken to him like that before. "Sorry Commissioner, I…um—"
"What the hell are you doing here—wait—does Barbara know you're in town?"
"No sir, she—"
"Good," the Commissioner growled once again, "keep it that way….and Dick?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't call me sir."
Dick smiled painfully. "Okay, got it." He picked up the tub again and hurried to put it away, but not before spotting X laughing at him through the mirror.
I'm totally spitting in your beer later.
Jason finally turned his head back to face the Commissioner and his bulldog of a partner, finding the man's disdain for his perfect predecessor unusually enjoyable. Mostly because it wasn't often that one got to see Dick Grayson squirm like a scolded child. But apparently, Hell hath no fury than a father scorned.
"What's he doing here, Todd?"
"Does that have anything to do with your case? Cause I can't see that being very relevant."
"You'd have made a good lawyer, you know that?"
"I've been told. Now if you really wanna know what Grayson's doing here, you're gonna have to be more specific about who this Richard Walker is. You never know, I might actually know something."
"He's a scumbag pimp," The Commissioner conceded.
"Is that so?"
"He was murdered," Gordon added. "He was last seen a few nights ago in this part of town."
"I may have seen him," Jason replied. "Who do you think did it?"
"Nice try, your turn to share."
Jason smiled with a sly smirk, but answered the question. "Dick's here to work. He's trying to separate himself from public opinion. As for how long he's here for, not sure, it's kind of an indefinite stay."
Gordon frowned, his brow creasing in a cold manner. "Can you call him out here please?"
"Sure," Jason agreed tiredly, "Grayson! Get the fuck out here and bring donuts!"
A long moment went by before Dick finally emerged, box of donuts in tow. Jason could have sworn that prior to making his appearance, he heard faint cursing, followed by a subtle thud. But the hero arrived at the end of the bar where the three men waited inquisitively.
Dick flipped open the box, revealing the neat assortment of Dunk'n Donuts brand pastries. "Donut?"
"Don't mind if I do," Bullock sang without hesitation, the Commissioner giving him a judgmental glare. "What?" the bullish man questioned, mouth full and powdered sugar dusting his bulbils lips. The man truly never met a donut he didn't like.
"Is that it," Dick said with denigrated resentment, but still trying to keep himself collected with a plastic expression.
"No," Gordon said before Jason could dismiss him, "Jason has informed me that you're gonna be sticking around a while."
"Maybe," Dick replied wearily, "I get the impression you have a problem with that, Commissioner?"
"Yeah, I do." The man smiled coldly. "So let me make myself very clear. You stay away from my daughter, I don't even want you accidentally crossing her path. Got it?"
Dick winced, taken aback and very unclear as to why Commissioner Gordon was so hell bent on keeping him away from Barbara in the first place.
"Not to sound disrespectful, Commissioner, but I'm a grown man, I'm not 15 anymore, you can't tell me what to do."
"That's very true, Dick, but I'm also the Police Commissioner and if you cast as much as a shadow on Barbara, I will make your life here very difficult, are we clear?"
Dick glanced at Jason who grimaced silently, waiting to see what Dick would even say to that.
"That's sounds like a threat Commissioner—"
"It is," he replied gruffly. "I'm only a year away from retirement, I have nothing to lose."
"Wow, and here I thought you were better than that, Jim. Guess Gotham's finally caught up to you."
"No," Gordon corrected, "it hasn't. You on the other hand, you tried to take my daughter away from me and you nearly destroyed her life 11 years ago. I'll never forgive you for that. I'm not just gonna sit back this time and let you sink your teeth into her just so you can run off again."
Dick's brow furrowed deeper, his eyes showing a lost anger. "I was a kid then, what did you want me to do?"
"I expected you to be a man." The commissioner leaned in. "I trusted you with my daughter, and you almost ruined her life, I'm not gonna let you do that again."
"Whatever, this conversation's done." Dick turned and walked away, taking a few empties in his hands.
"Grayson, I mean it. You keep your distance," the grey man warned.
Dick cracked a sarcastic smile. "Don't worry, Commissioner, I didn't come here to steal your precious daughter away from you."
"Hey," Bullock interjected, wiping the dust off his repulsive mouth, "you do what he says, punk. I'd hate to see your old man have to bail your ass out again."
Dick glanced at Jason, whose brow knit with insult. Dick walked over and closed the box, now looking the husky man in the eye.
"So tell me, Detective, how'd Harvey Jr's nose heal up?"
The Detective's face fell as Dick smiled a little vindictively, the Commissioner noticing the faint look in his eye.
"Why you son of a—"
"Bullock, outside now," Gordon ordered, pointing to the door with a harsh thumb.
"But Commish I—"
"I don't care, Harvey, just go, before you do something you'll regret."
His head sunk angrily, his eyes furious as he stormed out, Dick giving him a seemingly harmless smile as he went. Bullock laid his thick hand against the door and looked back at Dick like a dog ready to bite, but didn't. Instead, he pushed the door open and barged out like a frustrated bull.
Gordon turned his attention back to Dick, still standing at the bar.
"I gotta go take the trash out," Dick replied blankly, looking Gordon in the eye and simply walked away.
"I mean it, Dick," the man warned, "stay clear of Barbara."
He glanced over at Jason again, the Outlaw watching him leave through the kitchen. Jason looked over at the Commissioner again and took a sip of his beer.
"So what do you know about Walker?"
"I don't know anything," Jason replied and placed the bottle down, "but if he was peddling pussy in Red Hood's territory then I think you already know what happened. Good luck trying to prove it though."
Jason walked away, leaving his empty bottle for Clancy to clear. The Commissioner tapped his weathered fingers on the bar, his glare radiating with contempt that he'd actually let the situation get the better of his judgment.
Dick touted the two heavy trash bags down the stairs and around the corner of the building, approaching the dumpster and lifting the lid. He tossed one of the plastic bags inside, the sound of glass bottles rattling against aluminum cans, colliding with steel. Dick struggle with the second bag a little, not even out of actual difficulty. He just didn't care for how easily frustrated he'd become over such a simple task. His phone suddenly rang, causing a graveled huff to exit his lips. He picked up the second bag, the phone still ringing, fueling his ill manner. With an open, but rough hand, he aggressively pushed the bag in the wide mouth of the dumpster, slamming the lid closed, only to be greeted by a horribly foul stench.
He grimaced, pulling his phone from his pocket and placing it to his ear. "What?"
"Dick—" he heard Raven say in a soft, but chilling voice.
Something was wrong.
"Raven," he replied in a worried tone, "what happened?"
She took a heavy breath, exhaling it into the phone. "It's Roy…"
"Oh my God, what happened—is he okay?"
"I'm not really sure yet. He tried to—uh, I don't even know if he meant to, but—"
"He overdosed?"
"Yeah, um… I was able to heal him somewhat, but it's still hard to tell if it's gonna be enough," she replied, tears obvious in her voice. "He won't let me take him to the hospital, Dick, I don't know what to do."
"I'm on my way," Dick replied and hung up the phone.
His face wore an expression of determination, one he hadn't expressed since the last time he'd donned his mask. But before he could take off and save the day, he heard a stoic and weathered voice resonate from behind him.
"I need to ask you a few more questions, Grayson."
Dick turned, his expression sinking to frustration and anger as he knew the ownership of such a voice. "What, Gordon? Not done chastising me yet?"
The man's brow knit passively, the young man whose face once read of admiration and respect now beaming with disdain.
"You seem to be in a hurry? Going somewhere?"
Dick refused to smile and just glared. "Considering the new asshole you just tried to tear me, yeah, I'm in a hurry to steer clear of you. Isn't that what you wanted?"
The man smiled. "You know I find it funny that you even came back here." He paused and peered at the dumpster. "How long have you been back?"
Dick stared at the man his expression falling. "Fuck you, Gordon."
Dick took hold of a chain and pulled it across the plastic covering, securing it with a lock, then attempted to walk away.
"Hey I'm not done talking to you!"
"Once again, I am."
The Commissioner reached out his hand, once heavy with guidance and even pride. "If you know something, Grayson, I'm gonna find out."
Dick frowned angrily and spat, "I pour beer and take out the trash. I don't know shit."
He ripped his arm away forcefully, leaving the man who once thought of him as a son with a cold look of contempt. The Commissioner paused, unable to react. He'd never seen the boy so angry, his expression void of any compassion. He watched his face, unchanged, turn from him once more, and stormed off, determination driving his movement. Once the boy was out of sight, the aged man leaned against the brick wall, his labored hand cupped over his hung brow.
"Maybe I should hang it up now?" he whispered to himself. His judgement tampered and befouled.
"What'y do'n hang'n around here, Commish?" he heard and looked up to find his hefty partner swallowing an innocent donut practically whole.
"Nothing, Harvey," the older man replied, "I'm just getting a little too old for this."
The short round man took a seat at the private booth, his bodyguard taking his place beside him. He looked across the table, removing is his speculum. He was opposed by a tall Italian man, his roman nose held higher than warranted, though Cobblepot would have presented himself in a similar manner.
"I'm normally not this candid, but your daughter's boyfriend really fucked this one up," Cobblepot stated liberally. .
The man frowned, but remained firm. "Well I'm not exactly in a position to disagree," the man replied. "But you didn't exactly come through on your end of the bargain now, did you, Penguin?"
"My end of the bargain is simple: You take out the Hood and I cut you in on his territory. The Hood's not dead. If anyone is short on their end, it's you my friend." Cobblepot lifted his glass of red wine and sipped it. "You need to make this right, Santo."
"And how might I do that?"
"I think you already know."
Santo leaned back, he didn't like to be talked down to. "You know I have no attachment to that punk, right? Offing that kid will be easy."
"For you maybe," Cobblepot reasoned. "Your daughter, however, she might shed a tear or two."
"So be it," Santo replied as his own glass was poured.
"You see that's part of the problem," the round man countered. "She's too attached, and not just to that man."
Santo paused mid sip and looked back at the villain hard. "You don't mean?"
"I do," Cobblepot confirmed. "If you want this to be forgiven, then you're gonna have to make a sacrifice."
"And if I don't?"
"Then it will be your head I come looking for." He turned to Butch and nodded, then stood. "I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for the wine. And Santo, there's a lot riding on this, we can't have any loose ends."
"And what about your loose ends?" the man countered, clearly upset.
"That, my friend, is already being taken care of as we speak. Now if you'll excuse me, I must be going. I have a date with a pretty blonde." He tipped his hat and ventured out of the restaurant, finding refuge in the black vehicle waiting for him outside.
He crawled in, taking a seat in the back. Butch then opened the driver's side door and folded himself in the seat.
"Where to, Boss?"
A crooked smile curled at the corners of his employer's mouth. "To the Iceberg Lounge."