The mission was simple enough: infiltrate a warehouse/base of operations, beat up the lackeys, capture the boss and put an end to the production of venom. Luckily, Bane wasn't involved in this particular venture.
Jaime had been teamed up with Connor and Nightwing, which left him feeling a bit slighted. He had basically been put in protective custody with the benefits of still going on missions. He understood the need for him to be under the watchful eyes of one senior member of the team, but two? They must have really thought he was a target, or that he was a hazard. Either way, he felt like they thought of him as weak.
He wasn't.
And even if he was (he wasn't), it wouldn't have mattered, the smugglers didn't even have one metahuman with them, and their little (semi-automatic) peashooters could barely tickle his armor. He'd be fine; Nightwing should be the one who was being watched. He wasn't bulletproof.
But Jaime kept all that to himself, compartmentalized it, and kept it for later - like when they weren't being shot at.
The smugglers were untrained; lacking even that organized chaos guerilla fighters developed through experience. Instead, they simply bunched up into groups and shot at whatever moved. It made it easy for his team to down a bunch of them out at once with knockout gas from Nightwing and Robin's utility belts. Not only that, but it made it even easier for Connor to simply toss heavy stuff at them; or for Jaime to wrap some up with cables.
It was this tight, efficient work, that Jaime did for most of the mission; keeping a running tally of how many hostiles there were, and making sure none got away. Between his teammates and himself, everything was running like a well-oiled machine.
Really, he should have expected something to go wrong, but he was so certain in his preparedness, in his resolve to not fuck up, that, later, he would realize that he had blinded himself. He hadn't been actively worrying; Jaime had been ready, but he hadn't been ready enough.
While they had been busy rounding up the goons, the leader had hidden away - not ran away, no, because then the police would catch him on their way in. No, he hid and waited, and when he was ready, which Jaime guessed meant 'pumped so full of venom he just looked like a wad of veins and cancer,' he burst through a wall.
Debris flew everywhere and everyone struggled to keep themselves and the captured smugglers from being hit with concrete and rebar. One second, Jaime was pushing a group of people up against the far wall, the next he was getting clocked in the jaw; a sickening crack! resounding as flesh pounded on metal.
Jaime's head snapped to the side so hard he got whiplash. Between the surprise, and the sudden pain in his neck and face, he never saw the second hit come. A wild left swing with an arm that was bigger than Jaime's chest nailed him right in the face.
It was lucky the armor reacted in time; hardening just enough to protect Jaime's skull from being crushed. Blinding pain tore through his head as his nose felt like it had just compacted down into his mouth. He fell backwards, his skull snapping back and smashing into the concrete ground.
He hadn't been ready, just like last time.
It seemed no amount of calculations, strategies, or mental preparedness could actually keep him from safe. His breathing came in a shuddering gasp, and he blinked hard before his sight became unfocused, a thought lost to the past suddenly surfacing.
He wanted me to tell you... he loved you.
An enormous, veiny foot stomped down on his chest, driving the wind from his lungs, and Jaime was forced to look at what was currently happening: he was being beaten senseless by some two-bit gang leader hopped up on steroids.
He wasn't at the North Pole; he wasn't trapped in his own mind, unable to do anything but watch helplessly as events unfolded before him.
He was in control and he was angry.
Connor crashed into the man with a roar, sending both of them flying off of Jaime.
Nightwing ran over and tried to help him up, but Jaime angrily shrugged off his hand . He had just laid there and taken it as the guy beat him to a pulp.
Jaime wasn't sure who he was more pissed off with, the junkie or himself. Though if he were honest, he knew it was the latter. he had told himself he was ready. That it wouldn't be like the last fucking time.
"You alright?" Nightwing asked cautiously.
"Fine," Jaime snapped, right before he flew straight at the gang leader, ignoring Nightwing's protests. It barely took a second to reach them, at the speed he was going, but it felt like minutes. He was thinking about what he ought to do: tie the man up, or blast him hard enough to knock him out; his goal being something that wasn't too violent.
Instead, he smashed his fist right into the guy's damn mouth. He felt the crunching of his teeth breaking under his his fingers and the splatter of warm blood along his arm. His hand sank into the guy's broken maw of a mouth, crushing his tongue; saliva mixing in with the now cooling blood on his armor.
Jaime had tunnel vision; everything around him blurred, and narrowed to a single pinpoint of focus: the bloodied man in front of him.
He had taken Jaime unawares - he hadn't been ready - but he'd show him. He would fucking show this low-life not to take a superhero by surprise unless you could finish the damn job.
Otherwise they'd have to finish it for you.
His left hand reared back, morphing into an energy canon. Powering up, it produced a powerful white light; a shrill humming filling his ears. He was shoving the canon in the guy's face, ready to deal the finishing blow when something crashed into his side, and tackled him to the ground.
He was so disoriented, because he had thought there was only Connor there-
Why had Connor stopped him from taking the guy down?
"Get off of me!" he ground out, struggling under Connor's strong grip.
"No, man! You're gonna kill him if you don't stop!"
"I was gonna knock him out!" he defended, convinced of his words.
Connor growled, something deep like a lion or his mutated wolf, and finally pinned Jaime by the shoulders, straddling him. "I saw that look in your eyes," he gritted out through clenched teeth, partly because of his anger and of the force he had to apply to keep Jaime down. "And if you think your blast was going to do anything less than put him six feet under... after that punch you hit him with... you're fucking crazy."
Jaime sneered at him. What the fuck? He'd never even think of actually killing someone; that was fucking crazy. Jaime was just obsessed with being safe, prepared, and not a fucking failure. He clenched his teeth, and forced himself to breathe through his nose befpre he stole a glance at the unmoving man.
He was slumped pathetically against the wall. His face shattered. Pieces of broken teeth dotting his bloodied, slack lips, his torn, swollen tongue lolling out of a mouth whose jaw hung at an unnatural angle. A horrible gurgling, wheezing sound emanated from the smashed ruin of his face with every slow and shallow breath he struggled to take.
Bile rose up in Jaime's throat, and he tossed off Connor just in time to roll to his side. He heaved and was violently ill, the green bile burning its way up his throat. He shuddered as dry heaves wracked his entire body leaving him shaking and cold.
"O-Oh god..." he rasped, breath wheezy. "I-I.. I didn't... Fuck. I didn't want to do that."
"What? Puke or completely smash his face in?" Connor asked, spitting out the last words. "He wasn't a super villain, Blue, just a guy on fucking drugs-"
"Shut up," Jaime ground out. His throat still burned, and he could feel the slimy residue in the back of his throat. "Just, just shut up, okay? Y-You know what I meant."
Connor sighed, a short and curt exhale through his nostrils. After barely a moment, he grabbed Jaime's arm to help him up. He wanted to shrug him off, but right now he needed something to ground himself.
"I was afraid he'd hurt someone," he finally lied, knowing his elevated heartbeat would mask the truth from his friend.
"We need a med evac a.s.a.p," Nightwing spoke into his comm unit, which Jaime assumed was currently linked to the local authorities and emergency services. "Location is pier nineteen, warehouse fifty-nine. Apprehended suspects-" Nightwing paused to look questioningly at Robin.
"Twenty-five thugs, plus the ring-leader," Robin replied.
"Twenty-six. Nightwing out."
With the help of Connor and Robin, Nightwing moved the injured man into a safe position. "Keep an eye on him," he told Robin. "You-" pointing at Jaime- "with me."
Jaime didn't think he'd ever seen Nightwing angry. However, he thought this might be what it looked like. He followed him to one of the back rooms - which had all been cleared of hostiles, and traps. Nightwing sat at a computer and began breaking through the password screen.
"Sit," he told Jaime curtly. "Breathe," he said. Jaime wasn't sure if he was talking to him, or to himself.
There was a pause, a silence filled with Nightwing's tinkering and fiddling with the locked computer.
Finally, at long length, Nightwing spoke again. His typing slowed to a stop and he lifted his gaze from the monitor, to rest on Jaime. "Explain, now please."
"Uh..." he started off stupidly, caught off-guard by the question; then, the armor needlessly replayed what had just transpired. "I... fucked up. Again." He hadn't meant to say that. Jaime had been focusing on being ready and had been trying so hard to be in the zone; and he failed. And now, Nightwing knew.
Nightwing stared at him.
"I didn't think... I wasn't ready for it, just like last time. I thought I was prepared, but I-I freaked out when he punched me like that. I wasn't ready," he added again in a small voice, more to himself but loud enough for Nightwing to hear
"So you broke his face?" The question wasn't meant to be malicious, it was probably just to show Jaime how overkill his reaction had been.
Gulping, Jaime looked down.
"It was just a reflex, I didn't... I didn't mean to," Jaime said, hoping it would somehow help to clarify all this mess.
"Yeah, that's what worries me," Nightwing added in a whisper, looking away as well.
A few minutes later Nightwing dismissed him. He ignored his friends' questions and stares when they handed the perps over to the authorities as wel las during their return to the Watchtower.
Jaime noted it was around 0300, El Paso time, on Sunday morning, which meant that Jaime still had some time to kill before he could go home.
Maybe he could go on patrol, work the beat.
"Jaime, do you have any plans?" Nightwing asked, hand brushing his elbow but wisely not grabbing it, as they exited the zeta-beams. They all ignored the voice announcing their return.
"Uh-"
"Great. I gotta go talk with someone and we'll all meet up in the living room to debrief with Arty's team." Before Jaime could reply with an okay, Nightwing left.
He went to his room, because even though he wasn't residing in the tower, as a member, he was allocated a room. He had traded rooms a few times, so his was the very last one in the hall. This suited him just fine, as that meant anyone coming to his room had to pass by multiple other people - like Connor, with his super-hearing -before they reached him. It was like having an extra alarm system. All rooms were outfitted with a lock, each with a different key - either a passcode, or a palm-scan depending on the inhabitant's preference. Jaime had asked for both.
His room here was even more barren than his one at home. Unlike there, this room did not have furniture at all. A simple mattress with bedding, and if needed, a bag with clean clothes. The doors from the closet had been left permanently open, and the desk had been removed. If Jaime wanted to work at the Watchtower, he would go to the Team's living room.
He sat on the mattress, back against the wall, and faced the door. There, he had the armor keep a scan going, like a pulse, throughout the surrounding halls. Jaime microslept, four to five seconds at a time; or he tried to.
Robin had once told him Batman liked to microsleep. If it was good enough for the best of the best, it had to be good enough for Jaime, right? The only problem was that he didn't know what was happening during those seconds and it annoyed him. He didn't feel unsafe, not here, but not knowing felt almost as bad.
Whatever, he tried to tell himself. As he drifted in and out of sleep, just barely resting enough to avoid dreaming but resting nonetheless, he felt the time pass with deliberate slowness. He let go of a breath that he felt like he'd been holding for weeks The constant tension in his shoulders didn't vanish, but it lessened. Without meaning to, he unclenched his jaw and let his head lean back to rest against the wall behind him.
A wide yawn broke through his lips and he blinked his eyes open momentarily. He was tired. He was actually a few steps beyond tired, he was exhausted. What he wouldn't do for some decent sleep... But he couldn't sleep more than a little at a time, and he had debriefing soon, anyway. Microsleeping would have to do.
He closed his eyes, felt his breath; felt one rumble through his nose in a silent snore, snapping him awake, before the cycle repeated itself, as he rested. His eyes would open every few moments, casting a cursory glance around before he felt the urge to close them once more.
The next time he opened his eyes was because someone was heading towards his room. The armor had picked up a heat signature at the edge of the hall, and soon alerted Jaime. By the time Robin had reached his door, Jaime was standing. He'd had his hand on the switch as Robin knocked for the first time.
"Well, that was quick," Robin said, by way of greeting. He shoved a warm cup in Jaime's hands. "This'll help keep your eyes open during debrief, which is in a few minutes. Come on."
The armor analyzed the contents of the cup as Jaime looked at Robin dumbly. "Uh, how'd you-"
"-Know? Trust me, I know when someone's burning the midnight oil. I have my own coffee machine back at the cave. Now, come on." he waved at Jaime to follow him down the hall.
Jaime sipped the cup of harmless coffee, sugar, and cream mixture as he followed.
They were the last two to arrive in the living room, yet both of their usual seats were left open. Jaime put his empty cup on the coffee table and headed towards his chair in the far corner. He felt Artemis and Nightwing's eyes boring into the back of his head as he passed them. He sat in his chair awkwardly, pushing himself into it as far as he'd go, looking out at the room in front of him.
While they waited, he met the gazes of Bart, Connor, and Robin before he reluctabtly met Nightwing's. He quickly looked away but was caught by the intense stare of Artemis. He wasn't sure if it was a good sign or not that Artemis kept her eyes on him like that.
For a moment, he was taken back to that nightmare of her he had, or rather, that last nightmare of her. He'd had plenty involving her. Sometimes she was the victim, others she was the persecutir. The latter were never as bad, because he felt that any punishment meted out upon him was well deserved.
It was the nightmare where Artemis was suffering as she reaped her vengeance upon him that nearly broke him.
Artemis stared at him, her dead eyes accusing him of his crimes. Jaime's vision suddenly cleared, pulling him from the small trance as the phantom overlay of Artemis' full lips bled from blue to pink.
Blinking away the image, he noted in the back of his mind that Nightwing was talking about the last mission, but Artemis' attention remained clearly focused upon him.
Jaime licked his lips nervously, and finally his eyes flitted over to look at his mission leader.
"When we arrived, they were in the middle of unpacking a shipment, probably to repackage for the local dealers, before sending the rest on its way to the next town," Nightwing explained to the team. The warehouse they had raided had not been one of the drug runners' major entry-points, but the city had been suffering from a plague of venom-related incidents. A lot of the abusers, and incidentally the victims, were young; teenagers, and young adults. People that were Jaime's age.
"We managed to capture all the perps, despite... minor complications," Nightwing continued, pausing to give a glance in Jaime's direction; though his head never moved, Jaime had felt his eyes glance at him.
"It was super gross!" La'gaan said, and gagged for emphasis. "Jaime got decked and curb stomped, and he smashed the guy's face in! I saw bits of tongue flying out!"
Jaime felt Artemis look at him.
"... Right." Nightwing deadpanned. He kept talking about the rest of the mission; how many arrests, what was confiscated, etc. But Jaime wasn't listening - he was recording, through the armor, of course, so he allowed himself to be preoccupied by something else.
Artemis; wasn't looking at him like he was a threat, he realized, but more like she was evaluating him; and from the looks of her face, she had come to a result. Jaime could detect the faintest ghost of a scowl on her lips, barely pulling at the corner of her mouth. He could tell, her eyebrows, usually knit together in a mix of annoyance, exhaustion, and cold professionalism; were drawn together the slightest bit more.
Jaime gulped, a dry lump forming in his throat. Now tenser than ever, he tuned back into the conversation, but he saw from the corner of his eye that she had shifted her focus to Nightwing.
"Well, that's pretty much it for us," he said, with a sigh. "Arty, the floor is yours." He took a step back needlessly, as they'd both been standing side-by-side.
"Our mission went off without a hitch, for once. Nice change of pace-" a few people chuckled, despite her exhausted tone- "Pretty simple, just get in, secure the target, and get out. Somebody had hired mercenaries to guard the piece of tech we were there for. We were able to bring it back to S.T.A.R. Labs where it's being watched by Superman," she briefly paused. "No casualties," she added, in what Jaime knew to be a reprimanding tone.
The room was silent, uncomfortably so, for a few moments.
Finally, Nightwing dismissed them, and as usual, Jaime refused any offer to stay for movies or games or even homework - he was always done before everyone else - "But I could use some food," he confessed to Bart.
"Good, because I was beginning to worry." Jaime gave Bart a look, to which he replied, "What? I almost never see you eat when you're here."
Bart didn't buy that Jaime refused to eat because they were usually on a mission or on patrol. Bart ate during patrols, and missions; even Robin had energy bars somewhere in his belt. Jaime had no excuse, except to say that he wasn't hungry much.
The truth was that he didn't want Bart to know that he couldn't eat unless he had schedule it. He'd think Jaime was crazy.
They all sat at the island in the Team's kitchen. The cafeteria, while not reserved only for the League anymore, never felt as homey as their kitchen. Jaime remembered the stories -and the taste - of Megan's burnt cookies back at Mt. Justice. That was before...
He blinked back the memories, his eyes focusing back on the present.
Megan pulled out some leftovers, placing them on the island for people to pick at, while she cooked brunch. The actions were nostalgic workout being overly so.
Jaime sat with his back to the entrance, which didn't thrill him at all, if he were honest, but the rational part of him knew it was safe. He still felt exposed as he leaned forward to grab a cup to fill with juice. His hand gripped the plastic cup tightly; not enough to turn his knives white but enough for anyone to notice if they were looking
Trying to ignore the burgeoning headache that was beginning to form, Jaime strode purposefully down the hall, intent on going home and reviewing each and every single thing that had gone wrong tonight.
His mind burned as the scarab buzzed relentlessly in the back of his skull, pointing out where, exactly (down to the microsecond), he had stopped being useful and had become a hindrance.
Bitterly, he wondered just how much of a damn risk he could pose if he reacted without being ready again.
He had read the disappointment, the disgust, and anger on his teammates - his friends' - faces as they saw or heard what happened. Jaime reviewed the memory, passed over it with a fine-toothed comb, over, and over again. Every time yielded the same answer.
He hadn't been ready, was not paying enough attention, and he had acted out of instinct. It was purely reactionary, not with the intent to... Even though, considering, he had done as best he could, it was clear to him that it wasn't good enough for either himself or the team.
Even stone-faced, Artemis had looked at him with contempt; disappointed in his incompetence.
That's how he knew he really fucked up. Usually, she'd barely spend energy on him; just enough to acknowledge his existence. But today, she had looked - glared almost - at him and reprimanded him, even if it was only with two condemning words.
No casualties.
Jaime was already haunted by phrases like that one. Or rather, one casualty, and of course, it would always be his fault.
Without wanting to - actively not wanting to - Jaime thought back to Wally's (disappearance) death. He was dead and Jaime could have prevented it; the scarab had warned him. He wasn't ready though, and was forced to watch Artemis break down. Helplessly he looked on as his teammates - the ones he had betrayed while a prisoner in his own body - buried a casket with no body.
It was as empty as Jaime
He was suddenly alerted to the fact that he was about to have company. He recognized Artemis' heat signature only a moment before he hand shot out, balling her fingers into his shirt, and dragging him around the corner and into an unused room.
The door slid shut as she slammed him against the nearest wall.
Pushing down the urge to armor up, the subsequent painful migraine spike that followed caused him to wince and clench his teeth together in agony. The scarab didn't care who was threatening its host, it would protect them.
Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and stammered, "A-Artemis, -"
"Shut the fuck up," she snarled harshly, yanking on his collar. "I dragged you in here for one reason, and onereason only. You're going to listen, not say a damn thing, and then I'm going to leave. Bring it up, and I'll make sure you're up to your eyes in monitor duty until you quit. Clear?"
Her eyes were glowing in the artificial light, blazing infernos contrasting against the muted world around her. The mask she wore made her look like some kind of she-devil, out for his entire bloodline.
Jaime was terrified; not because he was afraid of what she might do to him = the armor could wipe the floor with almost anyone if he let go of enough control - but because of what might happen if he were to cross her.
Would he be kicked off the team?
Would his friends side with her, or with him?
Would he still be able to be Blue Beetle, or would he be forced to retire?
He swallowed the quickly thickening lump in his throat, and nodded in agreement of her demands.
"I don't trust you." she informed him bluntly, as if she wasn't the one forcing him into the small, unused room. "You're dangerous. You can't even watch your own back without trying to kill a guy-"
Against his better judgment, Jaime tried to defend his actions. "But I-"
She squeezed his throat - when had her fingers moved to his neck? "Shut up, Reyes, you're not supposed to say a damn thing."
They waited for a moment. Jaime waited for her to choke him or something, and Artemis waited for him to try and be stupid again.
Finally, "I told Nightwing that you should be benched." She pushed him back, and he hit his head against the wall.
Not waiting for an answer or a retort, Artemis released his throat, turned around, and stood before the door.
"Wait!" he called out, his voice quavering with desperation. "What... What did he say?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him. A long, tense, and pregnant silence filled the air. Jaime could not tell if she was debating within herself, or just letting him strew. Probably the latter, he decided.
"He's considering it," she replied, opening the door and leaving him pressed against the wall, his breathing unsteady as his body trembled with dread.