26. Dear Agony

"Mmmm..." Dora sighed, releasing a heavy breath. She was sweaty, exhausted, and sore in some places. In spite of that, her body was humming with delicious relief and sweet satisfaction.

God damn it, she thought, I needed that. It had been way too long since...

Dora didn't consider herself chaste or celibate intentionally—or even a "prude" as Carla liked to tease her. She was always just… too busy with work or school or her family. And when she wasn't busy, she was exhausted. It was hard enough finding guys she liked enough to consider dating (Gotham was full of creeps and jerks). It was even harder finding ones patient enough to handle being constantly bumped down her list of priorities. How would Jason fit into all that? Would he help or hinder her goals? One part of her was worried she made a mistake sleeping with him—but another part was very eager to do it again.

She laid naked on the rug of the Alibi's lounge area, between the couch and the coffee table. Snuggling under Jason's arm, she rested her head on his bare shoulder, her legs entangled with his. Her fingers traced his damp chest, making his skin prickle with goosebumps and chest hair stand on end. Dora felt his chest rise and fall as he caught his breath. She could hear his heartbeat as it steadied to a resting rhythm, the extra slow beat of a peak athlete. Her hand slid down his rippled stomach and drew circles around his taut belly button.

"That tickles," Jason chuckled, taking her hand and entwining her fingers in hers. He kissed her knuckles. "Give me a few more minutes and I'll be ready for round two."

Dora kissed his chest, relishing in the firm muscle underneath her lips and the salty-sweet taste of his sweat. She was still hungry for him, but as much as she really wanted a second round... and a third... and for morning to never come—she had to hold him to his word.

"Jay," she said quietly.

Jason stiffened; Dora could feel it. He held her hand, entwining their fingers.

She was the first person to ever call him "Jay."

He was the first person to ever call her "Dee."

The nicknames had since proliferated among their friends and family, but they had begun with each other.

"You promised to explain. After," Dora reminded him. "Here we are. After."

He had to explain how he was still alive. How and, more importantly, why he faked his death. And what happened in the eight years he was gone.

Jason groaned, spreading his arms and stretching. Dora heard his joints crack and pop. The nurse in her told her it was too many, given his age.

"Alright, but do you mind if we eat while we talk?"

"Okay."

Curling up his body with little effort, Jason deftly hopped to his feet. He went around the bar, picking up his strewn clothes and tossing Dora hers.

Slipping on her underwear, jeans, and t-shirt, Dora watched Jason step into his own clothes, simply taking in the view. She never noticed how sculpted his ass was, or how his back muscles were so well defined... but then...

"Wait," Dora said, looking at him closer.

Jason paused dressing. Only his jeans were on, hanging low around his hips.

Dora walked over to him, staring at him intently.

Jason looked between her and the garment in his hand. "This is my shirt, right?" They both had worn black tees.

Dora ignored him and put on her glasses, her eyes gliding over his bare torso. The muscles of his arms, shoulders, chest, and abs were not overly large or bulky, but instead lean and well-defined. It was clear that Jason's physique was the result of a strenuous lifestyle, not hours of pumping weights at a gym. But what was holding her attention wasn't his fitness, but rather his skin.

She had noticed his scars before, but until now she had been too caught up making out or making love with him to properly examine them. These weren't the usual blemishes most people had. They weren't faint discolorations and shallow dimples on his skin.

No, these scars were deep. Traumatic. Almost disfiguring.

The marred flesh was rough, hard, and stood out starkly on Jason's skin. The scar tissue was keloidal and hypertrophic, hinting at near-fatal wounds and physical trauma.

Her hands roamed over Jason's skin, reading his scars like Braille.

She touched a puckered scar on his side, between two ribs. She recognized the type. "Bullet wound," she recited, cross-referencing the flashes of textbook images scrolling through her mind. She had treated many bullet wounds during the No Man's Land crisis and the gang war, but it was uncommon for her to catch a glimpse of a healed entry wound.

Jason sighed under her fingers. ".45 ACP from a Colt 1911. Star City, three years ago."

Dora's hand then passed over a dent in his deltoid. "Puncture," she murmured. In other words, a stab wound.

"Machete," Jason answered. "Bialya, six years ago."

A ragged horizontal slash near his kidney, with puckering around the edges. "Laceration... with a tetanus infection."

"Rusty tanto blade. Tokyo, two years."

Two divets a mere inch from his heart. "More bullet wounds," she gasped.

"9mm Glock, point blank. Bore through my armor. Metropolis, six months ago."

A very long, but thin scar down the center of his stomach, passing between his abs and over his belly button. "An abdominal surgical incision?"

"Torture. Almost disemboweled. Markovia, five years."

Two floating ribs on his right side that jutted out slightly more than the ribs on his left side. "Broken ribs."

She heard Jason's teeth grind. "Crowbar. Qurac, eight years ago."

A thin scar that bisected his eyebrow, crossed his forehead, and disappeared into his hairline. She felt him shudder as he traced it with her finger.

"Surgical incision to fix my fractured skull. Qurac, eight years ago."

Then Dora finally came upon the biggest scar of all. A vicious flash burn across his chest and shoulder, discoloring his already pale skin to stark white, with bumpy ridges on the borders. He was missing a nipple. Dora's hand shook.

"IED," Jason said. "Also Qurac, eight years ago."

There were many, many more scars, but Dora just looked up into his face. She was beginning to understand why he didn't come back from Qurac. "How did you survive all this?"

Jason studied her for a long moment. "You really did try to become a doctor, didn't you?"

"Nurse," Dora corrected, pushing up her glasses. "Most doctors don't do anything but offer an opinion. It's nurses that get shit done."

Jason snorted. "God damn, I missed that attitude."

I... missed you too. Dora couldn't bring herself to say it out loud. Yet.

She looked down to avoid his eyes, and noticed something she hadn't before. A tattoo, near that delicious V-shaped muscle on his waist. "Is that... Hebrew?"

"Aramaic, actually."

"What's it say?"

Jason paused for a moment, chewing his tongue. He was reluctant, but said, "Demon."

"Demon, really?"

"Or ghoul. Or both. Semantics. Aramaic is a dead language."

Jason branded himself a demon? Dora thought it was sad... but poignantly appropriate. She shook her head. He was trying to distract her, to avoid something. "No, let's back up. How did you get all these injuries? How long have you been Red Hood?"

Dora recalled her textbooks—not even boxers, football players, cops, and soldiers were as beaten up as Jason was. What led him to suffered near-fatal injuries almost the entire time he had been away? If he was a vigilante that entire time, wouldn't she have heard of him?

Jason took Dora's right hand and passed his fingers over the burn scar on her wrist. He burrowed his face in her palm. She caressed his stubbly cheek.

"Every scar tells a story," he said.

"I want to hear them all," Dora said.

Notes

And some people accused this story of being dead. It's not dead, damn it. It's on hiatus. I have a life, you know.

And as you might've guessed, life has slowed down because of the covid outbreak. And while that sucks for many people, the social-distancing and self-isolation has given me time to write.

So here you go. I know this is a short chapter, but the next chapter is one of the longer ones in the story, and this was the best place to cut between the two.

Hope you like it. The upcoming chapters have a lot of intimacy between Dora and Jason. I call it the Honeymoon Arc.

Song Reference: "Dear Agony" by Breaking Benjamin.

Version 41.2