Author's Note: I am back and I am here, y'all. I keep daydreaming instead of writing. Enjoy some plot & thank you for your kind words!
The first night he is gone, she feels restless, her stomach turning at the thought of him.
Is there someone else?
Is that the real reason he left me when I—
The second night he is gone, she feels nothing. Knowing he wasn't there on the opposite side of her wall gave her nothing.
He said it was family.
Remember the way he looks at you. He loves—
The third night he is gone, she needs the open air. She imagines the stars falling on her the entire way to the beach that breaks her heart.
He is lying to you, too.
He sees right through you. He will not let you in.
"Why do I come back?" she whispers to herself.
He hadn't even kissed her goodbye last time. He did not let her after she tried to feel for his injury. The more she thought about his blank stare, the more frightened she became. What else has he lied about?
What else?
Robin's voice through the door, Jason's easy smile. Lies of omission that pull her down.
But instead of sorrow was a spark.
Something generational, something ancient. Something of her people. Her pain sparked rage, brewing deep inside of her. Though her flight falters with the heaviness of it, she continues to soar. She has no choice.
She must see this through.
But once she reaches his window, there is no sign of life.
She knocks gently, peering inside the darkness of the room. He was usually home at this time, so late into the night. Where could he be?
Did you go back home?
She opens the window and peers through the darkness, and it feels so reckless to do so. Yet she cannot stop herself. She slips inside and feels the warmth of the room cover her skin uncomfortably.
He must have left earlier today. She holds her breath and listens for anything. Maybe she is wrong.
But not even the patter of Eliza's paws came.
"Strange…" she says to the humid air.
She finds the light switch and turns it on. His bed is made, but still appeared to be worn in, like someone sat in the middle of it. Her heart beats with a sudden fear that she would be caught here, searching alone.
"Hello?" she calls softly. "Jason?"
She nearly mistakes the booming pulse in her ears for footsteps. She grips her chest and exhales, forcing herself to relax.
Only to jump at a bang! She yelps and draws back, afraid to look away from the bed. Was there something… someone… underneath?
Why would there be? She attempts to reason with herself, but she fails miserably. There was no relaxing now, though she could not bring herself to leave. Curiosity calls her as she draws closer, floating above ground, unwilling to risk making another sound.
She bends down and gingerly lifts the sheets hanging over the bed frame, empty except for an object on the middle of the floor. She spots a tear under the mattress, the fabric acting as what she thinks may be a pocket.
She breathes a sigh of relief, glad that it is an inanimate object and nothing else. So she reaches for it, not truly knowing what to expect.
It is heavy. Cool in her hand. She draws it into the light.
She tilts her head in confusion, holding the gun by the barrel and bringing it closer to her face.
A gun.
She places it on her lap.
A gun.
She does not know why she finds it so hard to believe.
"It is… indeed… a gun," she mumbles. "He must use it for protection… no?"
Yet the words make her stomach knot — she does not fear such a thing, but its placement is odd. She bends back down and shifts further underneath the bed, pressing the fabric up and watching in fascination as it aligns perfectly.
She pulls away and sits up, unsure of what to do next. What would he say if she were to ask him about it? That it is for his job, whatever that may be? That it is for emergencies? But who would even bother him here — the rest of the building he resides in is vacant!
Carefully, she stands and places the weapon on his nightstand. She almost misses the note left on top.
Kori,
I'm guessing you've let yourself in. No worries. I won't be back for a little while. Do you mind watering my plants?
Thanks, sweetheart :)
Somehow she can see his smirk right in front of her face, and for once, it isn't tantalizing. It infuriates her. His choice of words, even his penmanship is arrogant — like he expected her to read his unsightly, messy scrawl as easily as he can apparently predict that she would come into his home looking for him.
She scowls at the note, wondering if it would be a good idea to burn it. Then the gun, wondering if she should return it to its original place. She's only reminded of how he seems to know her all too well, while he keeps her lurking and tripping in the dark like a fool.
Why would he tell her anything? What does she expect? Everything is a secret with him. He loves to play games.
Where are these plants that he even speaks of? He had never bothered to tell her of their existence!
"Hmph." She tosses the paper on his bed and crosses her arms, pouting.
The guilt is quick to seep in, though. Is she not acting like a child? Would she leave the poor living beings to die?
She sighs deeply. "Why must you put me in such a position?" she says, and then wonders why she continues to talk to herself.
"He does this to me," she answers.
She scans the room once more, hoping to find something that she may have missed. It happens to be there on the window sill: a sprouted plant in a small pot, standing proudly. She brushes her fingertips over the leaves and shakes her head. For some reason, this is ridiculous to her. She does not hold back her laugh.
Outside the window, she can see more green. She squints into the darkness and finds larger plants resting on the firescape. She pulls the window open and sticks her head out, both dumbfounded and not.
It is not a surprise he did not tell her about something as benign as owning plants. What is is the fact that he even has them in the first place. She stares at what he's brought life to, attempting to figure out what this must mean about him.
"Perhaps he likes plants?" she mumbles, flying
through the window and hovering by them.
She truly had not even looked anywhere beyond his bedroom, has she? She was too busy being distracted by him, laying in his bed…
She does not want to miss him in the moment, but she does.
In the corner was a watering can, another note attached. She bends down and plucks it off, another wave of annoyance overcoming her. I miss him?! When he does such irritating things like this?
Fill 'er up!
She can hear his voice in her head. She rolls her eyes, sticks the note back onto the watering
can, and grips the banister before her.
She is not prepared for what she sees.
Her eyes immediately fall upon the brilliance of the bush full of flowers. It is familiar. She knows what it is, and she can feel the softness of the petals by her cheek.
The back of the building is empty except for the hibiscus, somehow turning her stomach and constricting her chest.
He wants her to see this. Why?
Why?
What does it mean?
How long has he been tending to those flowers? It has been over a month since he first gave one to her…
Why must she know? Why now?
The thought crosses her mind that she simply did not ask, that he simply did not think it was important enough to mention — but she knows better. Every action of his felt deliberate, thoughtful. And the haunted look in his eyes… it was always something she was able to recognize.
He made perfect sense, yet none at all. She knows he is hurting from something. She sensed his suffering from the beginning, but never what it was. But who was she to know? He made it clear that he would not let her in, even when he would open the slightest bit, when his smile would reach his eyes…
Slowly, she cranes her neck and stares into his home, blank and empty. The exact kind of
home you would stay in when you were trying to stay away from something, someone.
She flies in and settles by his bed, once again looking underneath it. She digs into the makeshift pocket and finds nothing else.
What else does he want me to find?
She opens the drawer to his nightstand and finds random tools, a lighter, and candles. She ignores the way her face heats up as she recalls that night, really not too long ago. Her humiliation, the way he almost appeared to be scared.
And the way he fulfilled her.
A rush of butterflies flutter inside of her. "Not now," she scolds herself, her skin too flushed and hot.
She opens the second and final drawer. She does not know why she is surprised to find it empty.
She pats it down anyway, as if there would be some secret compartment for the most minimalist furniture she has probably seen on all her time on Earth. She opens and closes it again, then tries to pull it out, but to no avail.
She curses under her breath and shoves it closed. Why must he be so complicated?
She turns to his closet next, small and only filled with basic clothing. He has a pair of pants and a shirt shoved into the corner of it, while the rest of it is folded sloppily on a shelf. A few jackets and sweaters hung on the far end of the bar. She slips her hand into each article of clothing and shuts the door fully when she finds nothing.
"Why must you be like this?" she grits through her teeth.
A door she has never gone through moves with the breeze that comes in. She practically tears it open and hovers through a narrow hallway, feeling the walls for a light switch.
When she finds it, she sees his kitchen for the first time. It is empty and small, almost sad to look at. One of the two counters overlooked an equally small living room. The couch there is worn in, and so is the coffee table. By the television is another plant, so tall and lively that she was not sure if he bought it or not.
From the corner of her eye, she spots the refrigerator.
Maybe it was always there. Maybe he had just put it, for her to find. She does not think she will ever know.
It felt so simple. Like she fell into a trap. And now, she continues to fall, her heart plummeting down with her.
Held up by a magnet, a picture. The only thing hanging there.
She stares at his lively green eyes, his prideful smile somehow sweet. No streak of white in sight. So young that her heart aches.
A pretty girl with bright red hair beside him, her gloved hand holding up a peace sign.
And on his other side, another boy. Tan skin with eyes so blue that she has to look away.
She is scared to hold it, but she must. Her fear prickles her nose and cheeks. Her curiosity drives her hand forward, grazing Jason's face as if it would let him go back to the way he was.
She does not dare to look at the other boy.
She cannot. Her mind wouldn't allow her. Her vision tunnels onto Jason, the thought of even glancing over to the left creating panic.
She does not want to know. Not now.
A deep sadness overwhelms her, settling in her heart. Something awful must have happened to take this away from him.
Whatever life he used to live, whoever he once knew, he never told her.
With shaking fingers, she slides the magnet off the picture and holds it like delicate glass.
"Oh, Jason," she sighs. "Where are you now?"
"Holy shit, can you leave already? My dad's still home!" Barbara hisses through her teeth.
"So you can study? Loser."
"Yes!"
"I thought I was your favorite distraction?" he pouts, already leaning on her window sill.
She's recovering fast, and he's overwhelmingly happy for it. Even when she's being mean to him for no reason. "God, Babs."
She's been out of the hospital for a couple days now, and even though she's practically bed-ridden, she's been working nonstop.
She crosses her ankles and her arms and gives him one of the best death stares he's ever seen.
He nods his head in approval. "You're a talent."
"Go patrol. C'mon. I got work to make up," she nearly whines, and it actually makes him feel kinda guilty.
"Okay, Babs, I'll leave your loser ass alone…"
She rolls her eyes and he rolls his back, making
sure to include his whole body. He smiles proudly when he catches her struggling to hold back her own.
"You staying up?"
"Probably. The pain'll keep me up," she says, writing some notes down.
He frowns deeply and waits for her to look up.
She raises her brows when she finally does and shoos him with her hand. "See you later, Nightwing," she says, deciding suddenly to be nice and blow him a kiss.
He makes a show of catching it and swings his legs through the window. "Don't wait up for me, 'kay?"
"'Kay. Be safe."
Then he's out into the night, and the worry amplifies in his chest.
He knows she's safe. Her father is home as much as he can possibly be, and when he's not, there's always someone with her. And there's also the fact that he's been checking on her nonstop, so much so that she's sick of him.
Still, he doesn't like leaving her.
What's worse is that he's set to head back to Jump tomorrow night. There's no reason for him
to stay here longer, other than to keep bothering her.
He flies through the night, feeling safer in his new suit. Not only was the material thicker, it was… well, black. It's easier to hide in the darkness.
For some reason, he couldn't stand to wear his old suit. In fact, he wanted to burn it or something. But it's only tucked inside of his bag, in the corner of his room back at the manor.
He settles on a rooftop just as a light drizzle begins to fall. Summer has ended, and September is about to. Maybe all he'll miss when he goes back to California is Babs and the weather.
But being here? He misses a whole lot more.
He never realized how great the dichotomy is between here and there. Or at least he never paid it mind. He accepted it, wanted it to be that way. But now, it's so uncomfortable that he can't even look at a street without thinking, they don't even know how I grew up here.
Awful quiet tonight. Again.
And the universe must've said fuck you or something, 'cause just as the thought goes through, there's someone running in the alley below him.
Immediately, he shoots his grappling hook to the edge of the next building over. But it doesn't matter — the pop that goes off rings in his ears.
The man is down, dead.
He jumps off the roof and swings, planting his feet against the wall of the next building over before landing on the ground, searching for any other sign of life, only to find no one.
He kneels down to the ground and finds the man twitching, blood pouring out of the back of his head. How eerily familiar.
What the fuck does this guy want?
He's calm as he turns to the sound of footsteps on the wet concrete.
Maybe it's the guy's demeanor, or the fact that he's got a red fucking helmet that you could see from space — there's no doubt in his mind. He readies his arm by his belt, just in case.
"Relax, I won't touch you," he says, his voice almost tinny and echoing down the alley.
He doesn't move an inch. "That supposed to work?"
The guy chuckles, coming to a stop once he's a good couple feet away. "I mean, if you want a massage or something, there's a place around the corner…"
When Dick steps forward, he puts his arms up in surrender. "Shoot."
The helmet reflects a passing light overhead, and it's then that he notices the red symbol smack dab in the middle of the black material on his chest.
"Why did you kill him?"
He moves, and in an instant, Dick throws out a birdarang, which he swiftly dodges. It comes back around and Dick catches it, holding it tightly.
He sweeps his hands in a wide gesture, like it was nothing. "Just fuckin' with you, man."
"You gonna answer my question?"
"Just doing what you can't, Boy Blunder."
Dick scowls. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he nods towards the man's body, "he's scum. And you wouldn't have done shit."
"Sorry I'm not a murderer."
"I mean, can't really blame you." He clicks his tongue. "All your dad's fault, right?"
The fuck?
"The fuck are you on about?" Dick says, his voice starting to give away his irritation. "What did he do?"
"What didn't he do?" he bites back, stepping closer.
Dick braces himself and ignores the strange feeling in his gut. Something about the way he walks… is familiar. "Not an answer."
"Don't worry. You'll find out."
He begins to walk off. Dick couldn't find a good reason to follow.
"Wait," Dick calls. "Are you Red X?"
His laugh is full and almost childish. It rings through the alleyway.
"Ask your girl."
He turns the corner and he's gone.
