MORNING CAME SOON. Sunlight broke through the blinds in splinters that fractured across the whole room, making dust and anything else small enough visible in the air. My eyes followed the swirls as I laid there on my back.

Dick's arm remained draped around my middle, his face in my shoulder, still totally asleep. It was a miracle he didn't wake when I startled at the sound of Rachel's door clicking open. She poked her head out cautiously, "Are you guys still naked?"

Her features were smug, the corner of her mouth pinched in a small smirk. Huffing an airy chuckle, I shook my head, and she took slow steps out of her room. "I'm kind of stuck," I whispered, as she reached the end of the bed. "Do you need something?"

Rachel smiled a little at my words, replying to my question, "I'm hungry."

Carefully, I lifted up my torso on my elbows and turned myself over before nestling back down. My fingertips brushed Dick's hair away from his ear as I spoke quietly, "Hey, sleepy boy. I'm going to take Rachel to breakfast—i'll bring you back something."

"Be careful," he stirred, readjusting his head's position as he let out an exhale. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

I gave his left temple a quick kiss before I climbed out of bed. Rachel looked a mixture of feeling awkward and thinking it was sweet. Stereotypical of a teenager that isn't a total douche. I remembered feeling that way at her age.

Love was gross but it was also something I wanted—an odd contradiction that made it hard to determine what I thought about anything at all. I pattered past Rachel to get to my duffel on the table. "What do you feel like?" I asked, over my shoulder. "We passed a burger joint on the way here."

"Sounds good," Rachel nodded, dropping into a chair at the table.

Once I was dressed fully, we left the motel. Again I could feel the warmth start to radiate in my chest, advancing and retreating in waves depending on my body's proximity to hers. But I told myself I could ignore it. I could overlook it.

It was something I could swallow down along with my breakfast. I sat across from Rachel in a booth, keeping my eye on the street through the window at my left while she finished eating. "Why do you wear those?" she asked, suddenly. "You obviously don't need them."

My eyes shifted from the window to her face. She was talking about my glasses, I knew. I also knew there wasn't a simple explanation that would satisfy her. I exhaled, "It's called a disguise. It seems a little tacky but I learned from a pro."

"Why do you need a disguise?"

"I did bad things to some very bad people," I replied, turning my head to look at her fully. "I'm kind of an escaped convict."

She raised a brow skeptically, "And glasses are going to hide you from the cops?"

"I didn't always look like this—my hair, my clothes, all of it. Ask Dick what I looked like before all of this when we get back to the motel. I think he's still got pictures."

"How long have you two been together?" she asked, curiously.

It was an innocent question, but irritation was beginning to bubble up inside me from the quantity of questions being thrown at me. Talking about myself and my life hasn't been something I could easily tolerate for years.

Though, I tried not to let it show as I once again answered her questions, "Off and on, most of our lives."

Rachel looked surprised, but also not at the same time. She looked down at her plate, fingering a scrambled egg. "You guys must really love each other," she said, quietly.

She looked a little crestfallen, a little bittersweet—and I could tell she was thinking about something or someone specific. Her sudden saddened turn of emotion gave my stomach a shot of panic. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know what to say.

Getting into a deep conversation about love and relationships with this girl was not something I wanted—nor was it something I was prepared for. It felt like I was a wild animal that had just been backed into a corner, and I needed to get out.

So I sat back a little in my side of the booth and exhaled, swiftly changing the subject, "If you're done, we should get back to the motel. Still got some driving to do."

It wasn't the smoothest or the most caring of topic changes, but it caused the desired effect. We were able to get up and get moving. The car ride back to the motel was silent. Most likely because she was picking up on my lack of interest in conversation.

At least, lack of interest in what she was asking. Part of me felt bad for being so cold to someone so young and confused. But the majority of my being was at ease with the quiet. I pulled into the same space i'd been parked in before leaving, and cut the engine.

Rachel was the first to climb out of the vehicle. I pulled myself out a second later, shoving the keys into the pocket of my hoodie and closing the car door with my free hand. The last bits of the morning clouds were burning off, leaving a harsh sun that only grew strong as noon approached.

The three of us, in our separate vehicles, were on the road again by then. We made it to D.C. within a couple of hours. I parked the Mustang right behind Dick's Porsche along the sidewalk out in front of the apartment building.

Dick had insisted going to Hank and Dawn was the best way to go about this, and it wasn't as if I had anyone else I knew that was willing to shelter three dangerous people out of the kindness of their hearts. So, unfortunately, I went along with it.

It was apartment 304. I eyed the worn numbers on the door as we walked the hallway from the elevator. Savannah hadn't seen Hank or Dawn in years—Beverly, however, hadn't seen them at all. The disguise was weak if you really knew me.

But I was still uneasy on the idea of showing her to them. The whole point of this new identity was to make sure no one knew who I was, where I was, or that I was even still alive. Dick seemed to sense my apprehension as we reached the door.

His hand slipped into mine, fingers gently threading, just before hitting his knuckles against the wood. I stood there a bit awkwardly, feeling out of place with a ball cap and glasses, my duffel hanging loosely from my shoulder.

In a few seconds, the door opened to reveal a smiling Dawn Granger. Her smile faded a little as her eyes flitted between each of our faces, caught in surprise by our appearance, lingering for a moment on Dick. "Hey," he said, a bit quietly.

"Hi," she replied, staring at him like he was the semi truck about to run her doe eyes over.

Inhaling, I spoke up, "Hey, Dawn. It's been a while."

Her eyes moved to mine and narrowed just slightly, her head tilting in thought. "I'm sorry..." she shook her head slowly. "Do I...know you?"

I reached up with my free hand and tugged the glasses from my face. The second they were gone, it seemed to click in her mind, the realization visible on her face. Her features contorted into sheer surprise, "Savannah? Oh my god, what happened to your hair? You colored it?"

"Yes. I decided to get back into society," I nodded.

She nodded slowly as she listened, still in disbelief from the change. Rachel suddenly cleared her throat, stepping forward as she held out her hand toward Dawn, "I'm Rachel."

"Dawn," Dawn smiled at her, sliding her hand into Rachel's.

The moment their hands were firmly clasped, a rush of heat swept up my spine and flared as it reached my skull, engulfing my mind in a warmth. It didn't hurt. Instead, my mind rushed with thoughts and images flashed before my eyes without my consent.

These thoughts had recurring characters—Dick and Dawn. They were all over each other, kissing and touching in the most intimate of ways. I didn't know if the sound I vaguely heard was the sound of someone talking or the sound of my heart breaking.

Either way, the pang of sadness that had hit my chest along with these thoughts didn't last but a second. It was quickly replaced with a burning anger as the images stopped flooding my vision.

In an instinctive reaction, I yanked my hand out of Dick's hold and took a step back, my features contorting with disgust. The sudden move caused Dick to twist quickly in order to see me, to see what happened, and he rose an eyebrow at me.

He furrowed his brow, confused, "Anna, what-?"

"The fuck is wrong with you?" I hissed at him, my eyes burning with rage. I could immediately tell he still did not understand—how could he? He hadn't seen what I'd seen. No, he simply lived it.

Rachel whirled quickly, looking at me in shock. She knew I'd seen it, too—and it only confirmed that she was not only the reason I saw those things, but for whom those things were originally intended. "Is something wrong?" Dawn asked, confused as she glanced between all of us.

"Maybe we should go inside?" Dick suggested to me, pointedly.

"Savannah, I'm so sorry," Rachel told me, quietly.

"Someone wanna tell me what the hell is going on?" Dick looked quickly between Rachel and I, frustratedly confused and even a little concerned. "Is this another one of your feelings?"

It was hard to contain myself, it was hard to remain in control of myself. I inhaled sharply, "Do whatever you want—I've got important things to do."

I turned on my heels and my feet carried me quickly back down the hall, toward the elevator we'd all just come from. "Hold on- Savannah!" Dick called after me, his voice echoing closer with each passing syllable.

It didn't stop me from pressing the downward button and waiting for the elevator doors. If anything, it made me want to leave more. I felt him carefully grab my arm before he came into my peripheral, his grip turning me to face him a little.

His eyes were still confused, but now they were mostly concerned. "Talk to me—what is going on?" he question, quickly. "Why are you leaving?"

"Don't use that talking bullshit with me—because when you talk, you just lie."

Dick recoiled, shuffling back a half-step in confused shock from my words, from my harsh tone. But he ultimately recovered, moving closer to me yet again to speak, even as the elevator doors were opening in front of us.

He lowered his voice, perplexed, "What are you talking about?"

"You slept with her!"

I practically shouted it, even though it was more of a hushed shout. After the words had left my mouth, a hush fell over the hallway, and finally Dick understood. His brown irises filled with realization as they searched mine.

Looking for the lie, looking for the truth—I didn't know. I didn't care, either. I pulled away from him and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. It was a mistake to look up from the panel of buttons.

It was a mistake, but I did it. My eyes looked past Dick to Rachel and Dawn, the two still standing at the door, watching the train crash before them. I focused on Dawn. The look on her face was clearly one of guilt—an expression my bitter heart knew she deserved.

She deserved to feel guilty. It was best that I left before I could decide she deserved anything worse. I knew Dawn from before Detroit, before Beverly took over Savannah. It made the sting so much worse.

If I was no longer paling around with someone wasting my time, I decided, I should get ahead of whatever storm was coming my way. To do that, I needed to contact someone specific from my past. Someone that I knew could answer my questions.

So there I stood, at the edge of the river in downtown Gotham, waiting for this specific someone to show their face while I sipped my iced coffee slowly through the straw. D.C. wasn't too far from Gotham City.

I hadn't stepped foot within its limits in only just over a month, though it felt as if it'd been many years. It felt as though it had been an eternity. Finally, I could hear tires crushing the gravel behind me. He had arrived.

The sounds of the car engine quit moments before echos of car doors drifted into my ears. "You were bold to reach out to me," he said, the sounds of his steps mixing with the sounds of his voice.

"Well, I know you won't tell Gordon I was here, so," my shoulders shrugged lifelessly. "Figured it was better in person than over Skype."

He came to stand beside me at the river's edge, "You drove here from Detroit?"

"No, I was in D.C. on business. Looks like I was right that you were keeping tabs on Dick, though."

"What do you want, Savannah?" he asked, changing the subject seamlessly with a tired and uninterested tone of voice.

My eyes shifted from the river to his face, inhaling sharply, "I need to know what my father is doing in Gotham—who he's partnered with. You would know better than anyone. Wouldn't you, Bruce?"

He stared at me blankly for a moment. Bruce Wayne might be what some could call the world's greatest detective, but he had never been able to hide from me. I'd been able to predict his next words since I was sixteen.

It was all in his eyes—what he chose to show and what he tried to hide. Once you muddled through all of it he was actually a fairly open book of a person. "My intel suggests he's operating some kind of villain round table," Bruce finally replied. "Penguin, Riddler, Two Face, Ivy...Joker."

"Fuck," I hissed under my breath, my eyes dropping to the gravel beneath my feet.

"Now I need something from you."

Lifting my head, I sighed lightly, "What exactly could I give you?"

"I need to know...how is he?" he asked, a bit hesitantly.

I searched his eyes for a quiet moment before looking to the river, copying Bruce's attempts to hide things he didn't want anyone else to see. To hide what I'd just found out. To hide how it made me feel.

Shrugging, I answered, "He's hurt. But he's doing his best to live with it."

"Hey, are you almost done?"

A foreign male voice came from my right, causing me to immediately turn my head in that direction. My eyes landed on a young looking brunette that was looking at us over the door of Bruce's car. Bruce sighed, obviously displeased his presence was made known.

I turned my head to look up at Bruce, emotionlessly raising an eyebrow, "That was fast—even for you."

The look he gave me I was sure was meant to be some kind of glare, but it only looked like he was a child who'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The young man at the car shut his door and walked toward us. I could feel Bruce's displeasure radiating toward me.

My eyes moved back to the young man as he came to stand two feet from us. "Who're you?" he jutted his chin at me. By the tone of his voice I could tell he was not asking for my name—he was asking my vigilante identity.

It was confirmed then that Bruce had in fact taken up another Robin. I pursed my lips, "Beverly. Get back in the car, you little shit."

"Language," I could feel Bruce's eyes on me. I glanced up at him, confused by his reprimand, before looking back to the young man. Bruce reprimanded him next, "I told you to stay in the car."

"I'm Jason," the young man held out his hand to me, ignoring Bruce's words with a small smirk.

"Sorry...I have a thing about germs," I shook my head a little, keeping my free hand in the pouch of my hoodie.

"Is that what they're calling attractiveness these days?"

A small, airy sound of disbelief escaped me as he slid his hands into his jacket pockets, his smirk remaining strong on his lips. "I have a boyfriend, and you're twelve," I replied, causing him to roll his eyes at the age.

"I like older women," he shrugged innocently. "Especially when they're hot."

"And I like big dicks—what are you, three inches?"

"Enough," Bruce finally stepped in, looking at me pointedly. "Is that all you needed, Miss Lawrence?"

My eyes narrowed at his address of me. Obviously, for whatever reason, he did not want this Jason kid to have anything to do with me. More specifically, he didn't want Jason anywhere near Savannah.

I nodded once and patted Bruce's shoulder, plastering a sickeningly fake smile on my face, "Yes, that will do for now. Thanks, Brucey."

My feet turned and I took steps away from him. I stopped beside Jason, leaning in and lowering my voice. "Stare at my ass and I'll cut your throat," I told him, lowly. Then I walked to my Mustang, parked a few yards away.

I pulled the door open after unlocking it, but my muscles froze up as the hairs on the nape of my neck stood skyward. Immediately my eyes shot up, over the hood of the car, and landed on the driver's side window of Bruce's car.

It was Alfred, watching me from his seat with a curious expression. In that moment it felt as though a leather buckle had been tightened around my heart, restricting its beating, causing a slight pain. I reached up a hand and tugged off my glasses.

If anything at all, it was for my own consolement, for the knowledge that he knew it was me. That he knew I was still around. I could see it on his face, the moment he knew, and I could just make out his lips forming my name before I slid into the driver's seat of the Mustang.

It was just after dark when I returned to the apartment building in D.C., once again parking behind Dick's Porsche on the side of the road. I didn't want to come back for Dick or for Dawn—but I felt a sense of obligation toward Rachel. At least, if anything, to help her to a safe place.

A permanently safe place. That, and I didn't get to see Hank before I left this afternoon. It was worth coming back just for that alone.

I pulled my duffel onto my shoulder and started into the building. Once I was in the elevator, I took off my glasses and ball cap, putting them both in my bag. The brown hair was enough of a difference to make someone who knew me raise an eyebrow.

Glasses and a hat seemed to over-do it when you took into context who exactly I was going to be seeing for who knew how long. The doors opened on the third floor and my feet carried me down the long hallway to apartment 304.

However, before I'd even actually reached the apartment, the door swung open. Rachel stared at me with surprised but relieved features, "You came back."

"I'll always come back for you," I replied, tiredly, stopping just before the door.

"Hugging you is a bad idea, isn't it?" she smiled sheepishly at me.

I nodded, "Probably."

"Screw it."

She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around my middle, attaching her body to mine like a human personification of a leach. I grunted simply from the force that hit my abdomen. There was a heat in my chest but, surprisingly, it wasn't painful.

In fact, it felt good. Slowly I put my arms around her to reciprocate her hug as the ghost of a smile threatened to appear on my lips. This girl had been abandoned and hunted by everyone. It wouldn't be hard to understand why she was happy I came back.

Especially after the abrupt and unpleasant way I left, after i'd seen one of her visions—she probably thought it was her fault. A bubble of guilt popped in my stomach at the thought.

After a moment, a distinct male voice pulled us apart. "Oh, great, there's hugging," it was Hank, ambling to the door. "No one thought to invite me, huh?"

My heart lit up upon seeing him after so long. "Hey, asshole," I grinned up at him. He smiled back, huffing an airy chuckle at my words.

"Been a while...uh...wow, you're not so red anymore, are you?" he squinted at me, perplexed by the change, confused by what he was supposed to call me now.

I stepped past Rachel and threw my arms around his neck, rising up on my toes to do so. It forced him to bend down a little but he didn't seem to mind. He groaned as he wrapped his arms around my torso tightly and lifted.

My boots left the ground by a solid two or three inches. I couldn't help giggling a little as he turned and took a few steps into the apartment. "Look who I found publicly displaying affection in the hallway," he said, to whoever would listen.

Rachel closed the apartment door behind us. "Well, your koala child returns," I heard Dawn say, lightheartedly in tone, from somewhere off to the left.

Rachel chuckled, "Koala child?"

"I like tall people, okay?" I replied, sarcastically.

"You're just short enough it works," Hank said, as he put me down. "And you're as heavy as a used paperclip."

I nodded once, "Thanks, Grandpa. I've been doing two-forty lately—works wonders."

"Dick's on the couch and Rachel has the spare room," Dawn said, as she came to the living room from the master bedroom. "But i'm sure you could-"

"She doesn't sleep."

The voice from behind me I knew to belong to Dick. Dawn was perplexed by his words, a little disbelieving in her expression. "Ever?" she questioned, curiously.

"Pretty much," I nodded to her question. Then I turned my head to see Dick, who was standing at the guest bedroom doorway to my right, and said spitefully, "Fuck off."

Hank laughed, causing Dawn to give him a disapproving look. Sighing, Hank gestured for me to follow as he started toward the back of the apartment, "Come on, you can hang out on the roof."

"Great, thanks," I smiled a little and followed him.

The rooftop offered an aesthetic view of D.C., with an old bench put near the end to gaze at it all. Hank walked me to the bench. I dropped my bag beside it and took a seat, dropping my weight into the old metal. "Got a little lover's spat going on, huh?" Hank said, nudging my boot with his foot.

Sighing, I leaned against the back of the bench. At my lack of reply Hank took the initiative to sit on the bench on the other side of me. He mirrored my position, sitting back in a relaxed pose, and looked out at the city in the silence.

He knew exactly what was going on. After all, the apprehension was rolling off him in waves when we'd been in the apartment with Dick. Hank didn't want to be around him either.

Slowly, I exhaled, "I know you know Dick and Dawn slept together. But did you know that he lied to me about it?"

"That fucking prick cheated on you?"

"Not technically, I don't think. We were...kind of broken up. It was an implied separation but no one really said it officially. But...he hid it from me for almost four years," I slowly shook my head as I spoke, in my own world of disbelief.

I couldn't believe he'd do such a thing. But, then again, he'd been able to hide being Robin from me for much longer than four years. Hank snorted, shaking his head, "He's still a fucking shithead that needs bitch-slapped."

"I'm with you on that one."

Leaning down, I unzipped my duffel bag. Inside, under my glasses and ball cap, was a bottle of whiskey. I pulled it out and sat upright with it in my hands, and then set it in my lap to open the lid. It'd become a habit of mine—drinking.

Alcohol numbed my body to the point where I couldn't hear the voices, I couldn't see the deaths, and I couldn't find the bodies. It was the edge I needed in order to keep Dick's no-kill rule for so long.

Once I got the lid off, I took a long pull from the bottle. The liquid burned down my throat and I could feel the moment it reached my stomach. Finally I lowered the bottle from my lips, wiping my chin with the sleeve of my hoodie, and I offered it to Hank.

"Wanna drink?" I asked, being mostly rhetorical.

I knew he'd want to drink—Hank always wanted to drink. In that moment I was a struggling alcoholic helping another struggling alcoholic be an alcoholic. But I didn't think about it. I didn't care. I just wanted to stop feeling.

Drinking as much as I did on that rooftop made everything go numb—not just my abilities. Everything was blurring together in my vision and I struggled to sit upright. Hank hadn't drunk as much as I had. He was level-headed enough still to tell me to stop, that I'd had enough.

Without being too delicate, he took the almost empty bottle from my hands and put it on the ground on his side of the bench so I couldn't reach it. "Shit, Savannah," he pushed himself off the bench with a groan and stood in front of me. "You're fucking plastered."

"W-w-why doyouh-have to b-bee s-s-such agood-d ggguy?" I drunkenly slurred, making a sound of disgust I could only psychically achieve while drunk.

Hank grabbed my wrists and tugged me up off the bench, and I teetered on my feet, leaning into him heavily. He kept his arms around me as we made our way to the rooftop access door. We traveled through the door and I nearly tumbled down the stairs multiple times.

You'd think, for someone so in touch with what they feel, it would be terrifying to get drunk and not be able to feel anything at all. But, in fact, it was the exact opposite. It felt freeing.

We'd made it inside the apartment when everyone else was asleep. All the lights were off, but there was enough light echoing in the windows from the streetlights to be able to find our way. Hank was going to take me to the guest room.

"Rachel won't mind," he assured me, whispering as we passed the couch.

"I'm-m fffine," I protested, pulling away from him. "Jjjust gotobed-d."

I pushed away from him, and it seemed he only let me go because he was curious as to what exactly I planned on doing. Clearly, I'd taken trying to get numb incredibly too far. Mostly because my first instinct was to go to the couch.

Drunkenly, I laid flush with Dick's front to fit, wrapping my arms around his middle as I buried my face in his shirt. I could feel Dick adjust his position before not moving at all for a short moment. Then, slowly, his arms moved to encircle me.

The sensation I fell asleep to was the warmth of his lips pressing a kiss to the top of my icy forehead. And in that intoxicated moment it felt like nothing had changed. Like I didn't know a secret that broke my heart. Like I wasn't angry or sad.

Then morning came and the feeling of amnesia—along with the feeling of freedom—washed out of my body with the sunlight from the living room windows. It wasn't surprising I didn't have any visions. I typically didn't when I was that drunk.

It made my body feel worse having so much sleep after so little for so long. My muscles were tense, even a little sore, as I moved to sit up. The first thing I noticed was Dick's absence. He didn't appear to be anywhere in the apartment from what I could see.

The part of me that was conditioned to worry, conditioned to pay attention to him, was curious as to just where he could've gone and why. But I squashed that weakness before it had the chance to make its home in the forefront of my mind.

Instead of dwelling on it, I pushed myself up to my feet and shuffled to the roof access. There was no way I would stay longer than I had to inside the apartment. From what I could tell everyone else was asleep. No one would notice my absence for a while.

I climbed the stairs and pushed through the door to the roof. Immediately I was hit with a cold breeze. It felt like knives slicing the skin of my cheekbones and something heavy hitting my face simultaneously.

My bag was still there on the roof, nestled against the side of the bench. I made my way across the gravel to the seating space and lowered myself to sit, before dragging the duffel around to a place in front of my feet.

I dug out my coat and pulled it on over my hoodie. It was childish of me to keep that hoodie. But it held too much sentimental value to throw it away—no matter how petty I wanted to be.

When we were younger, I'd received this hoodie as a Christmas gift from Dick. That same Christmas I'd gotten him a similar hoodie but with a Batman logo instead. We hadn't planned it, yet somehow it happened so timely.

Knowing he was prowling the streets at night as Robin made it easy to decide on that hoodie as a gift. Back then, I was so reckless. Untameable. My father received many comments—good and bad—regarding my fiery spirit.

That fire was all but put out the moment I'd been arrested. After Arkham, there was virtually nothing remaining of who I'd been before. I didn't know who that made me if I wasn't her. Thinking on it, that was most likely why I originally wanted to live my life as someone else.

I could've hidden out somewhere for the rest of my days as Savannah Syren, the serial killer escapee from Arkham Asylum, and died with that legacy in peace. But instead I chose to integrate myself back into society under an alias.

Beverly Lawrence appeared in Gotham City two years after Savannah Syren had vanished from the world. The manhunt had only died down slightly, though it was enough to return if I'd been different enough. No one knew my new name.

No one but Dick. Eventually, due to bloody circumstances, Bruce Wayne became aware of my existence. For reasons I did not know he chose to keep my secret. Bruce had never liked me in the slightest, so it was certainly a surprise.

My best guess was that he'd felt obligated to for Dick's sake. At the time, and maybe even a little bit now, that made sense to me. After a little while of sitting on the bench alone, I heard the whining of the rooftop access door opening.

I'd hoped it was Hank, maybe even Rachel. But it was neither. "Hank said you drank a little too much last night," Dawn's voice filled my ears, getting closer. Every syllable grated against my nerves.

Her voice reminded me of why I was angry—I saw the compilation of flashes on the insides of my eyelids, burning themselves into my skin. "What of it?" I grumbled, gritting my teeth.

Dawn came to stand just beside the bench, angled just slightly in front of me, but I kept my eyes straight ahead on the other buildings. "I thought you might like some tea—it'll help any hangover symptoms you might have," she explained, calmly, causing me to give her a glance.

In her hands was a steaming mug, the tab of a tea bag hanging over the side. She took a sidestep forward to offer it to me. Exhaling a huff of air, I reached up a hand and took the mug from her, slinking back into my seat on the bench quickly.

"I don't get hangovers," I told her, my eyes straight ahead again. "But thanks, I guess."

Dawn inhaled, and I could sense a monologue coming on, "Look...I don't know why Dick didn't tell you about what happened between us. But he should've told you. I'm really sorry you had to find out like this-"

"Stop. If you think we're going to talk it over and end up hugging it out as best friends who realized they care about each other more than a misunderstanding, you're fucking delusional," I interrupted, speaking spitefully.

"Your problem is with Dick—so why do you insist on taking your anger out on me?" Dawn questioned, sounding a mixture of hurt and confused.

It was a very good question. One I expected but secretly hoped no one would ask. Finally, I turned my eyes to her face, holding the warm mug in my lap, "Every time I look at you...every time I hear your voice...all I can see is you two fucking. I don't need that in my head any more than it already is."

She looked full of sympathy, of remorse. It was etched deeply into her features. Dawn had always been a kind, caring person that always treated me decently when we were in the same room—typically when no one else did.

Despite knowing my history she treated me with respect that I did not deserve. It hurt me, deep down, to treat her like an enemy. But I couldn't stop myself from resenting her a little in my heart for the things I saw in my mind.

Dawn did the only thing she could and left me alone on the roof. It was the smart option. After a short while, Hank came to the roof and told me that he was going to be surveilling a warehouse across town where a gun deal would take place.

In his announcement of coming actions, he asked if I wanted to go with him. Considering I had nothing else to do while I was in D.C. I eagerly accepted the idea. It had been quite a long time since I'd last held a camera in my hands.

But it didn't at all feel unusual to be using one again—instead, it was as though I had never stopped using cameras years ago. My fingers found the right settings and then the device was resting in my hands, holding it just above the window sill of Hank's van.

From what i'd seen, taking down these dealers would be easy enough. I had no intention of joining Hank and Dawn on their mission but it did not surprise me that Hank was trying to subtly bring me into the fold.

It was his way of asking me to join without actually having to ask. "It was probably pretty awkward waking up on the couch with Dick," Hank spoke somewhat quietly, bitterly over pronouncing Dick.

"He wasn't there when I woke up," I replied.

I pulled the camera from the window to my lap as I began to look through the photos i'd taken, yet still kept an eye on the movement outside the vehicle. "Why do you still follow him around?" Hank questioned, genuinely perplexed.

His words caused me to sigh, lifting my head to glance at him with a tired expression. "If you're under the impression that he has me on a leash, then fuck you," I responded, neutrally. "I didn't follow him anywhere—we moved to Detroit together. As for why, I honestly don't know anymore."

Hank opened the back door of the apartment and held it for me as I walked through. I stepped into the apartment and Hank did after me, letting the door fall closed behind the both of us. If he hadn't have said anything, I would never have noticed.

But it was just like Hank to be vocal about his anger—and his disgust. "Well, isn't this cozy?" he commented, venomously rhetorical. The words drew my attention to the right, in the direction of the kitchen area.

Dick and Dawn were sitting closely at the table. They'd obviously just pulled apart in some way or another—I could tell by the way Dawn was still retracting her hand when I turned to look. My eyes flitted between the two of them for a moment as Dawn scooted her chair back from the table.

Part of me was not surprised. But the rest of me was vibrating on the same frequency as Hank's blind rage. "Just like the old days," Hank said, taking slow steps into the kitchen area.

"We were just talking things through, okay?" Dick replied, slightly annoyed by Hank's words.

Though he was responding to Hank, Dick's eyes shifted in my direction, like he was explaining himself to me rather than him. I kept my arms at my sides, my features slack. There was no way I could outwardly react that was pleasant.

My temperament was frequently determined by other people. I reacted to reactions. With Hank practically fuming, it felt like I was a grenade missing its pin. The second I opened my mouth I would explode. Dawn looked at me cautiously.

Her gaze was almost begging, pleading with me to see their innocence. Pleading with me to see it, explain it to Hank, and maybe stop this whole scenario from exploding with me. And in that moment, I narrowed my eyes—and I could feel it click.

Finally, I spoke up, "You have to hold hands for that?"

My head turned almost mechanically in order to move my disapproving and skeptical gaze from Dawn to Dick. He visibly tensed from what I'd said. Dick knew better than anyone just what was going to happen here.

"Can we talk? Alone?" Dick asked me, with a serious expression. "Please?"

"Come on, Hank, let's go," Dawn stood, quickly moving toward Hank.

She tried to turn him and, at first, he resisted. But he did turn away and saunter off toward the master bedroom with Dawn in toe. They'd cleared the kitchen quickly—and it was most likely the smartest thing to do in that situation.

I gestured with my hands out at my sides once they'd disappeared. "You wanna talk? Talk. Tell me why you keep lying to me," I said, tone vaguely bitter. "Why did you think not telling me about you and Dawn was a good idea?"

"Anna, I can explain-"

"Then explain it!" I rose my voice in frustration.

He sighed heavily through his nostrils, then gestured to the chair Dawn had been sitting in, "Please, just sit, and let's talk—okay? No yelling."

Anger was boiling in my veins, but something else accompanied it—something a little more saddening, a little more painful. He had no idea how much what he'd done, and continued to do, hurt me. I didn't know if I could even explain it if I tried.

But I took steps forward and dropped into the chair. Scooting it toward the table, I angled myself toward Dick at my left. "Talk," I spoke through gritted teeth, folding my arms atop the table.

Dick inhaled sharply, leaning into the table a little, "I didn't want to tell you about Dawn because I was worried what it would do to you. When we got back together, you were in a really bad place-"

"That's no excuse," I shook my head. "I'm never not in a bad place."

"I didn't want you to relapse, okay? It was hard enough to see you like that the first time. I didn't want you to have to go through that—and especially not because of something stupid I did."

I could read the hints of honesty in his eyes. He was telling the truth that he was in fact worried I would do something harmful to myself. But that was obviously not the true reason. It wasn't the whole truth.

The way he held himself, how rigid his body was, told me he was holding something back. It pained me that even now as we were trying to talk about why he lied, he was still lying. "What aren't you telling me?" I questioned.

There was a vague sting in my eyes, a burning in my throat. Anger turned to hurt. Hurt turned to sadness. Sadness turned to tears. He shrugged up his shoulders, "There's nothing else-"

"For once in your life, be honest with me," I was all but begging, my cheeks burning from the water draining through my eyes now.

"I'm not good at the staying with people part," he admitted, quietly.

I leaned forward a little more, "Care about me more."

"You don't understand," he started, causing me to sit back in my chair. My eyes became downcast as he continued, crying silently with the knowledge of where this was going. "I'm no good at family, I can't-"

"It's simple."

I lifted my head to look at him. He was paused mid-sentence, staring at me like that as the situation sunk in. There was nothing else for me to say. Nothing for either of us to say. So I stood and left the room.