C/W: Absolutely shameless relationship development (flirting??). Absolutely. Shameless. Also, violence and mild Waffle House slander.
And fuck it, this is rated M now.
Chapter 6 of What's Up, Danger?: A Damn Fine Cup of Coffee
9:30 PM, Monday—Batcave
The eerie blue glow of the supercomputer's screen illuminated the otherwise dark and humid atmosphere inside the cave.
Bruce sat in front of the large computer, cowl pulled back, his fingers steepled together, and his eyes narrowed as he examined the images and text on the screen.
Dick and Stephanie stood beside him, mentally digesting the gruesome photo of the victim depicted on the screen. Neither were strangers to witnessing the aftermath of acts of violence, but this was something else—there was something about seeing the remains of a human resembling a dehydrated piece of jerky that no amount of eye bleach would ever make you unsee.
Stephanie could feel her stomach churn and bile threatened to creep up her throat. She made a mental note to look at cute cat and kitten videos later.
However, both kept their composure steady as Bruce gave them time to let the images sink in.
Bruce cleared his throat. "Alek Storrison, 63. Law professor at Gotham University. Found dead in his study by his partner, Marjorie Wood, at approximately 7 PM. No signs of struggle."
"So," Dick shifted his stance and crossed his arms, "are we thinking the m-word?"
Stephanie rolled her eyes and motioned towards the screen. "Well, it's obviously murder."
"Tch," Damian tutted as he descended the long staircase that led down into the cave, still dressed in his academy uniform. He stopped next to them and joined them in examining the large images projected on the screen. "He meant magic, Brown."
"Murder, magic," Stephanie shrugged nonchalantly, focusing her eyes on a very interesting stalactite hanging overhead in order to avoid the crime photos on the screen, "both are m-words."
Bruce remained silent as his protégés and partners bickered behind him, their raising and falling voices eventually fading into the background as he frowned. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't hate magic…but it deeply troubled him. He was a detective and scientist who dealt with tangible things, such as evidence and facts; magic was elusive, slippery, often invisible, and distorted and bent the very laws of physics. Magic didn't make sense, at least, not in a scientific way.
And there were no leads in the photos that he could see. No forced entry. No signs of a fight. It was like Alek Storrison wasted away in what was probably a matter of minutes, or, more troubling to consider, seconds.
Oracle's voice crackled over the comm lines, resonating throughout the cave:
"The police detectives have no leads as of now. His partner claims to have seen him alive and healthy less than five minutes before discovering the body."
"Are the detectives still there?" Bruce asked, leaning back in his chair.
There was a pause before Oracle responded:
"Police are doing a sweep of the property and might be there for another hour or two. I'll let you know when they leave."
"Good, keep me informed."
??:??, ???—-???
There was a swarm of faceless strangers around her,
Avoiding her,
In the middle of a street lined with dark gray buildings so tall
That they blocked the sky.
She stood still,
Unable to move.
The crowd parted,
Opening up,
Like the sea.
And he charged at her,
Something small and pointy glinted in his hand.
She swerved to the side,
Her body was finally able to move,
Miraculously dodging.
But his other ghostly hand came at her from a blindspot,
Shoving her down.
She braced herself for the hard impact of her body against the sidewalk,
She was falling in slow motion...
And then
And then…
Sabine jolted awake as the soft but firm embrace of her mattress greeted her instead of cold pavement. The prints and posters on her wall rattled quietly from the impact. She felt the mattress shake and the metal bed frame creaked under her before settling.
Her heartbeat raced as she wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
Breathing shakily, Sabine sat up. She rubbed her bare arms as the cold morning air that had seeped into her studio enveloped her skin. The layer of sweat on her skin made the chilly temperature all the more intolerable.
Somehow during the night, she had managed to kick her comforter off of her and onto the floor next to her bed. Teeth chattering, she grabbed the crumpled blanket off the floor and wrapped it around her body, turning herself into a human burrito.
She fell back against her pillows, hoping to fall back asleep. Her studio was bathed in the soft glow of orange and pink light from the sunrise that peaked through the blinds, indicating that it was morning but still too early for her to start her day.
She tossed and turned, her mind unable to settle. Every night for the past week had been a battle to fall asleep.
How could she have been so naive to think that only bad things happened in Gotham to people who went looking for it? Every corner in the city seemed to present the promise of a new threat. Fuck, was this how Gotham natives felt? (And did they really refer to themselves as Gothamites? Although, she supposed that was better than Gothamians or Gothaminos.)
The newfound anxiety had nearly prevented her from going to work or class in the following days. However, it seemed like every classmate and coworker she spoke to about the incident had a story of their own—muggings, assaults, and break-ins.
Sabine exhaled a heavy breath and sat back up. Her mind was too awake to fall back asleep now. Sometimes she didn't understand how every thought in her head could be so loud.
Well, if her mind wasn't going to let her rest she could at least get some studying in before class today.
But first coffee.
She felt like a sleep-deprived zombie as she rubbed the sleep crust from her eyelashes and wandered over to the kitchen. On her small kitchen table, her textbooks lay in a messy pile along with her laptop, chaotic notes scrawled on notebook paper and an empty mug that had been full of tea from the night before.
Groggy, she went through the motions without much thought:
Water. Coffee pot. Filter. Several tablespoons of ground medium roast. Start button. The machine hummed to life.
She waited to make sure the coffee started to drip into the pot before hitting the shower, hoping that a hot and steady spray of water would be able to wash away the remnants of the nightmare.
Intro to Criminal Law and Civil Procedure
(LAW_500_LEC_FALL_20XX-XX)
Subject: Classes canceled this week
Tuesday, 10:05 AM
Dear students:
All Intro to Criminal Law and Civil Procedure lectures on Tuesday and Thursday are canceled this week.
Hopefully, lecture classes will resume again next week. We apologize for the short notice and any inconveniences this may cause. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions or concerns.
Sincerely,
Professor Steele, J.D.
Department of Legal Writing and Research
Gotham University
Sabine read the email on her phone screen in disbelief, twice. The "hopefully" thrown in didn't inspire much hope in her. One week of missed classes could put her and her cohort far behind in the syllabus.
The email was short and to the point. She wondered what kind of emergency caused Professor Storrison to call out or why he hadn't emailed the class himself.
She slumped against the elevator wall, defeated and as if she had her own personal rain cloud looming over her head.
Jason peered over her shoulder at the phone screen and shook his head. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone so bummed about class being canceled."
"I've been awake since six this morning rereading case studies and reviewing material, I feel like my eyes are gonna bleed." She dragged a hand over her cheek, exasperated.
Jason noticed the bags under eyes—that could rival Tim's—were darker than usual.
It felt like it was becoming a routine for them to bump into one another once a week, always around the same time and at the same place.
The elevator came to a bumpy stop and the doors squeaked as they peeled open.
Sabine pushed herself off the panel, shuffling behind Jason through the doors and into the building's lobby. She felt a rush of nerves and her stomach dropped as they approached the entrance.
"Do you want to get coffee or something?"
The suddenness of her question caught him off guard, Sabine was even surprised at herself. The words seemed to slip out of her mouth before she could stop herself.
"Like, I mean as a thank-you for last week…or something," she clarified awkwardly as she twiddled her fingers. "And I have free time now, so…"
Jason paused at the top of the steps that led to the sidewalk and pulled up the collar on his jacket, shielding his neck from the cold. He didn't have anything better to do except maybe catch up on some much-needed shut-eye and he fiercely missed his bed.
"Umm, you totally don't have to…" Sabine went on, fidgeting where she stood. Her face was slowly turning redder by the second, embarrassed.
He rubbed the back of his neck, realizing he was taking too long to respond. It was just a simple invitation. Would turning it down be weird? Not that he cared what she thought, but then he discerned that she was trembling—her irises flitted around, surveying their surroundings with caution, her lips eyelids and lips twitched as if she expected danger, and her chest rose and fell as her breathing quickened.
It was like her eyes were pitifully screaming 'please stay' even though she had fallen silent.
Vigilante aftercare, he reminded himself even though he detested the phrase. Yes, she wanted to thank him, but she also didn't want to be alone in the area where she was almost stabbed. It clicked in his mind and made sense now. She looked apprehensive and utterly sleep-deprived, something he could relate to a little too much.
Jason racked his mind and for some reason the first idea that came to his man-lizard brain was:
"Want me to show you how to punch someone?"
She perked up, her anxiety spiral disrupted. "Yeah? Are you going to teach me or something?"
She had looked up a few self-defense videos over the past week, but practicing on her own had seemed intimidating.
"Why not? Everyone should at least know how to throw a punch," Jason replied, mildly surprised that she was going along with the first thought that had popped up in his mind.
Jason grabbed her by the sleeve of her argyle sweater and tugged her over to the edge of the sidewalk that was closest to the building so they were out of the way of any foot traffic.
"Right here?" Sabine blinked as she swiveled her head from side to side. "On the sidewalk?"
Jason stood behind her, ignoring her questions, and put his hands on her shoulders positioning her. "You'll want to stand with your shoulders facing forward to square up and your dominant leg behind you." He used his foot to nudge hers apart, widening her narrow stance and sliding her left leg back.
"Oh my god, you're serious…"
"Now curl your hand into a fist. Good, just like that. Remember, you want to have your thumb over your knuckles. Now, keeping your shoulders square, turn your hips slightly away…"
"Like this?" Sabine tried to stifle her laughter by forcing her lips shut, but her cheeks puffed out. She felt absolutely ridiculous as people passed them on the sidewalk, staring at the two of them.
Jason released her shoulders and moved in front of her. "You're jutting your hips out too much." He paused, unsure if he should use his hands to correct her positioning.
The thought that he was being too friendly and familiar with her flickered in his mind. She was a civilian after all. It also occurred to him how starved he was to talk to someone, anyone, that wasn't part of the family or associated with them; someone who didn't treat him like a black sheep or felt the need to tiptoe around him.
Sabine didn't know anything about him other than his name. He had to admit to himself that it was refreshing to interact with someone who didn't know him as the Robin that died, or Red Hood. A little bit of normalcy now and then wasn't so bad.
Sabine noticed his awkward, contemplative expression and readjusted herself. "Better?"
He nodded. "Raise your fists, keep your elbows tucked in. Now when you punch, try to keep your arm straight, don't try to swing to the side, punch straight. And push off your back foot."
Jason held up his open palms at chest height. "Come on, give me your best shot."
She cocked her head to the side. "Are you, uh, sure?"
He gave her a smug grin, finding her hesitation endearing. As if she could hurt him. "Don't worry, I can take it."
Sabine's face skewed in concentration and she chewed on her lower lip. She sucked in a deep breath and pushed off her back foot as Jason told her as she swung her left fist forward. Her aim was off and her fist skimmed the bottom of his palm, partly connecting but mostly hitting air and missing the center.
The brief contact of her skin against his caused her to momentarily pause as a burst of dark red took over her vision. When the world and its colors finally came back into focus around her, she lowered her fist slowly, feeling utterly bewildered by the strange jolt.
What…what was that?
Jason chuckled as he noticed she creased her forehead in what he thought was disappointment.
"That wasn't bad for a first attempt, but you won't be taking on any gang members anytime soon." He dropped his hands and shoved them into the pockets of his brown jacket. "Look, you're small and you don't have a lot of power to put behind your punches. Your best bet is to aim for the eyes, nose, or…you know, the groin because it doesn't take a lot of force to damage those areas."
Sabine glanced down at her clenched fists. "And what if I can't hit those areas?"
"Well, you could get yourself a gun—"
She made a displeased face at the word 'gun'.
"—but if you're uncomfortable with that then there's always tasers, knives, tactical batons, stun guns, brass knuckles…," he rattled on as if he was telling her his grocery list.
Sabine watched as the way Jason's face lit up at the mere mention of weapons.
She raised an eyebrow. "Aren't some of those illegal to carry?"
Jason shrugged. Of course the law student would care about something like that.
"Who cares what's legal when someone's trying to kill you? Criminals aren't going to stop in the middle of mugging you and politely remind you that carrying a switchblade to defend yourself is illegal," Jason said hotly.
Sabine put her hands on her hips and stared up at him. "So, what are you? A cop or something?"
She had a hard time imagining that he was because she could smell the I-hate-authority-figures attitude off of him from a mile away. His enthusiasm for combat and weapons was…interesting. So, maybe not law enforcement then. And he looked like he was built like a fucking tank, taller and sturdier-built than most. He definitely worked out, vigorously.
Jason frowned and waved a hand dismissively. "Nope."
"Cage fighter? MMA? Military?"
No, no, and definitely no. Although he appreciated her imagination.
"I thought you were going to treat me to coffee, not grill me," Jason huffed.
He began to walk down the street, facing his back to her in an attempt to hide the small smirk tugging on the corners of his lips.
"A bouncer then?" She asked in a playful and inquisitive tone, jogging after him in order to catch up with his long strides.
More like Gotham's bouncer, Jason thought with a short hum.
"Something like that."
"How about here?" Jason asked, coming to a halt outside of C Cafe underneath its neon sign that hung off the edge of the building, indicating to all that it was a bastion of mediocre coffee and stale pastries.
Sabine groaned. "Jason, I work here. Trust me, you don't want to have the coffee here."
She purposely avoided telling him how desperately the inside of the coffee and espresso machines needed to be cleaned. Marie swore she saw a roach crawling out of one the other night. That and the fact that the owner bought regular brand-name coffee and tried to pass it off as his own blend. Not even her meager employee discount could convince her
Jason chuckled at the sight of her grumpy expression.
"I didn't know you worked at a coffee shop", he lied because he did know. The alley next to it was where they first met—him, gloriously covered in trash and bleeding from his head, and her throwing a garbage bag on top of him—even if she didn't recognize him.
Ah, memories.
"If I have free time today, I'm not going to spend it where I work," she said, grimacing as she shifted her gaze up to the shop sign overhead. She even had a shift there later that night, which she was dreading.
"Fair point," Jason conceded, although he had the urge to taunt her some more. He pretended to think and put his fist under his chin. "Well, I think I know a place that has the best coffee. You're gonna love it."
"Jason, this is a Waffle House," Sabine muttered as they seated themselves at the counter.
"I know," he said proudly as he pounded his fist once on the counter, "and it's the best damn Waffle House."
"Oh?" she responded with an inflection that only egged him on.
"I did an unofficial case study of all the Waffle Houses in the state, this is the best one."
She tapped her fingers on the counter and looked around her surroundings. "I'm pretty sure this is the only one in New Jersey."
Across from them was the open kitchen, where the cook was frying bacon, pancakes, and eggs on a large stovetop griddle. The smell of coffee and toast wafted through the air. Against one of the tiled walls was a modern-looking jukebox, which was blaring bass-heavy music that made the ground beneath her feet vibrate. The air was alive with chatter as waiters and busboys bustled about, taking orders and cleaning tables, while patrons conversed loudly with one another.
"Can I get you two started with anything?" A woman with thick black curls that framed her head asked them.
"Yeah, two coffees, Trisha," Jason said, giving the woman a charming smile as he held up two fingers.
Trisha returned the smile as she put her pen and paper pad in her front apron pocket. "Be right back, Jay."
Sabine's brown eyes brightened with amusement as the waitress walked over to the coffee pot behind the counter. "Why am I not surprised that you're a regular here?"
"Hell," he turned around in the diner stool and pointed at a corner booth with his thumb, "I've probably spent more nights passed out in that corner than in my own bed."
It was hyperbole on his part, but he had truly lost count of how many times he'd slumped over on that table, falling asleep face first in his breakfast scramble at four in the morning.
The waitress returned with two steaming mugs and set them down in front of them. "Here ya go."
They uttered their 'thank-you's' in unison as the waitress winked at Jason, which he returned with a toothy grin. She plopped two menus down in front of them as well, just in case the smell of bacon grease and hash browns tempted them.
Sabine waited a minute before adding in two small packets of creamer and stirring the concoction. The dark brown drink turned a burnt shade of caramel. Finally, she brought the mug to her lips and sipped.
"Well?" Jason prodded, his large hand cupping the mug in front of him.
"It tastes like a crappy cup of coffee," she said, unimpressed but amused as she placed it back down on the counter.
"To each their own," Jason uttered as he raised his shoulders up and down. He lifted the mug to his mouth, drinking the coffee black.
Of course, it didn't compare to the way Alfred brewed coffee, but there was something comforting about so-so diner coffee. Maybe it was the way that little flakes of ground beans found their way to the bottom of the mug every time, or maybe it was the burnt taste that no amount of creamer or sugar could conceal (he had given up trying). The quality was always reliably the same, not good, not awful. And it was probably one of the most stable things in his life.
Sabine studied him over the cooling cup of coffee in front of her, her elbow propped up on the counter and her chin resting in her palm, wondering how the hell she ended up at what was maybe the only Waffle House in the tri-state area with someone she barely knew. Well, yes, she had offered to treat him as a thank-you, but it was also out of deep-seated curiosity.
From the harsh fluorescent lighting in the restaurant, she could see that his hands were covered with healed scars and that his nose was slightly crooked, maybe from being broken in the past. Every time she saw him, there was something new to notice about him.
Sabine's finger traced the mug's handle as she stared at the content man next to her and a feeling in her gut told her that it was mostly a ruse. She knew when someone was faking it. Hell, she had faked happiness and normalcy for years herself. However, she knew it wasn't her place to ask or pry no matter how nosy she wanted to be.
Her thoughts reverted back to the disturbing jolt brought on by their brief skin-to-skin contact. It wasn't just the vision of all red that bothered her (what had that been anyway?), an overwhelming feeling had accompanied it; a burst of sensation that came and went as quickly as the flash of crimson. The sensation had felt hostile and threatening, reminding her of broken bones, blood, and rage—it felt like violence.
1:20 AM, Wednesday-- Somewhere by Gotham Harbor
Nighttime in Gotham was rarely ever peaceful for Jason, but he liked it that way.
What was that saying again?—the devil works hard, but Red Hood works harder.
He reveled in the sickening crackle of his knife cutting through flesh and bone followed by a guttural high-pitchscream as a finger fell to the ground in the abandoned warehouse. After Jason had cut off a second finger and then threatened to slice off another appendage (one more "south of the border") that the man would surely miss, the man fessed up important information regarding the trafficking ring that Jason had been tracking.
"See, was that so hard?" Red Hood scoffed through his voice scrambler as he lowered the blade, the metal glinting chrome and red. "Now get the hell out of here," he spat.
To add insult to injury, he kicked the man's back. The impact sent him sprawling forward in a pool of his own blood.
The terrified man clutched his hand to his chest as he found his footing. Blood streamed down his forearm as he darted for the exit.
Jason was in the middle of cleaning blood off his knife with a rag when Red Robin—Tim—approached him. He recognized the footfall without even turning around. Tim wasn't as heavy or as stocky as Bruce, so his steps were lighter, but his also wasn't as light on his feet and nimble as Dick. It annoyed him to no end that he could tell them apart by the sound of their footsteps. Hell, he could probably write a very long and boring essay on the similarities and differences between all the footsteps of every vigilante in Gotham.
The warehouse was in an abandoned industrial area, where the air smelled like gas and rotting lumber. All the buildings had shattered windows and were covered in graffiti. It was a great place to take someone if you didn't want anyone to hear their screams.
"Do I even want to know whose blood that is?" Tim asked.
"Let's just say Four-Finger Freddy is now Two-Finger Freddy," Jason quipped as he holstered the blade in its sheath on his hip.
Underneath the hood of the black cowl, Jason could see Tim scowl. Sure, Batman had taught them effective interrogation techniques that didn't involve inflicting pain or maiming their targets, but Jason had always found pain to be a good motivator to get the truth out of someone.
Jason leaned against the roof's parapet and faced Tim, crossing his long legs and tilting his head to the side. It was unusual for Tim to seek him out one-on-one or even attempt to talk to him, especially after that messy business where he beat the ever-living shit out of him a few years ago (he also maaaaybe tried to kill him). Old wounds and all that jazz.
The only saving grace Tim possessed was that he rarely expended the effort to verbally berate Jason for his actions, like Dick or Bruce seemed to do endlessly under the thin veneer of concern. Stare disapprovingly, yes, but he held his tongue. Usually.
The pretender tossed a small rectangular flash drive at Jason, which he caught easily with a gloved hand.
"What's this for?" Jason asked lazily.
"Information on a new case. B wants us all to be filled-in on it and seeing as how you weren't responding to your comm line, he asked that one of us deliver it to you."
"So you drew the short straw, huh?" Jason dropped the drive in an inner pocket in his jacket, only half-interested in the information Tim was relaying to him. This was probably the longest-somewhat-cordial conversation they had ever had and Jason was already itching to ditch the red-and-black bird boy. There was a Waffle House calling his name, after all.
"—a law professor at Gotham University died under suspicious circumstances. We don't have any leads yet."
Jason was just about to abseil down the roof with his grappling hook when his head snapped back at Tim. A law professor at Gotham U?—that struck a chord with him. His mind instantly made the connection with Sabine's canceled classes and the case Tim presented. It couldn't be a coincidence. Unfortunately, he considered that he would probably have to look at the case file now.
Tim, clever and sharp as ever, noticed Jason's suddenly attentive body language. "Know anything we can go off of?"
Jason stared blankly at Tim. If it wasn't for the helmet obscuring his entire face, the younger vigilante might have caught a glimpse of the gears turning in Red Hood's mind. Jason was thankful that the neutral visage of the helmet prevented others from reading him.
"Nothing comes to mind," Jason finally answered as he jumped onto the parapet, grabbing hi grappling hook in his leather-gloved hand, "but if I need to order a crappy burger with a side of undercooked fries, I'll let you know."
If Jason had bothered to look over his shoulder before abseiling down the wall and into the darkness below, he would have spotted Tim rolling his eyes in annoyance. But, even without looking back, he knew, and it was the little things like that that made Jason happy.
A/N:
because Red Robin is chain restaurant that serves "gourmet burgers"
To my knowledge, there are no Waffle Houses in NJ, but for the sake of this fanfiction, we'll pretend that there is one—and only one—and that may or may not have been inspired by a Judd Winick tweet where he stated Jason spent time in-between events of Red Hood: Lost Days passed out at Waffle Houses…
Anyway, I had to chip away at this chapter until I was satisfied with it. Hopefully, the format and jumps between scenes aren't too confusing.
Thank you for all the hits, kudos, bookmarks,favorites, and comments/reviews! :)