"…for events are as much the parents of the future as they were the children of the past."
–John Galsworthy, Saint's Progress
Progeny: Part II
Rose had sworn to herself with stubborn determination that she would not cry.
She was in an unfamiliar place. It was darker than her room at night; she couldn't see past the faint shapes of cluttered gears diligently spinning out loud, distant echoes into the deaf black. Above her, dim bulb caged in wire cast a circle of light on the cold floor she was huddled on. In her child's imagination she saw the depthless dark beyond her flickering safe place as a dungeon that went on forever.
The one-eyed man was there too, skirting the edges of the light as if walking into it would disperse him. She realized the dull, tarnished glimmer that winked off him when he moved was metal- the dark man was covered head to toe in black armor that reminded her of a knight from the stories her mother told her.
Only…wasn't it the bad knights that wore black armor?
"Don't be afraid, Rose." His voice was calm and level, neither threatening nor comforting.
"I'm not scared," the eight year old repudiated. And she wasn't. All her fear had drained away hours ago when she ran out of tears. Now she was just angry; she despised this man who stole her from her familiar bed, her home, her mom, her life.
It was a liberating realization: the fear went away when you replaced it with hate.
The man tilted his head in a way that reminded Rose of a big, curious dog. "No you aren't, are you." It wasn't a question. He actually sounded pleased.
"I want to go home!" She demanded.
"I will happily return you to your mother, if that is your wish," the man said reasonably. "I just wanted to talk to you in private first, Rose."
"How do you know my name?"
"Oh, I know a great deal more about you than just your name, my dear. I know you're the smartest girl in your fourth-grade class, and the only reason you haven't skipped any grades is because your mother wouldn't agree to it. You're faster than children even two years older than you, but your mother does not let you participate in any sports."
"I didn't wanna skip," Rose lied feebly, feeling obligated to defend her mother. "And I hate gym class."
"I know Jessica Parker is your only friend. Everyone else shuns and avoids you because you're better than them at everything."
Rose bit her lip and avoided the scrutinizing gaze from the man's eye. She had tried so hard to have the other kids like her, she even purposely did poorly on tests and put as little effort as she could into gym, but nothing helped.
"I also know," he said. "That your hair isn't naturally black."
Shocked, Rose couldn't stop herself from looking up at him. It had been so long since she'd seen her hair without the dyes her mother forcibly scrubbed into her scalp every two weeks. "It's…white," she admitted, not knowing why she felt she needed to tell the truth- to tell someone. "It's white like fresh snow. Before I started going to school Momma called me her little snowflake."
Of course, she hadn't called her that in a very long time. Saying it aloud made her realize how much she missed it. For it to be a cherished secret between mother and daughter instead of a something shameful.
"Hasn't she taught you to always tell the truth and that you shouldn't be ashamed about who you are?"
Rose was a bright girl, she could guess where the man's argument was going. "Yeah, but my mom said people wouldn't understand..."
"It sounds as if she doesn't understand either," the dark man opined. "No matter how much your mother dyes your hair or how hard you try to fit in at school they all treat you like you're different. They don't understand- they're incapable of understanding-but they do know."
"Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
"I'm a teacher, Rose. It's my job to find special children so I can help them reach their full potential."
That word. "I-I'm...special?" When teachers or parents said that word they were talking about how everyone was special. But when he said it...just for her...
She'd felt like a white-haired freak for so long...
He knelt down to her level. "You are special Rose. In ways you can't imagine." An armored hand brushed a lock of her hair, Rose was surprised when she didn't shrink from his touch."You are something wonderful and unique..." He held up a single strand of white hair between his fingers. "Like a snowflake."
"So I have potential?" She was the only kid her class who knew that word. She suspected there were plenty of kids even in the grades above hers that didn't.
"More than even I can guess."
"And you can teach me?"
"I can, yes." He said. "But not tonight. These things take time- and you need your rest."
She was tired. Somehow she had forgotten how much she missed her own bed."Can I go home now?"
"Of course, my dear. I said I would return you home if that was your wish. I'm a man of my word."
He was, she realized with amazement. Rose always had a funny feeling whenever people lied to her- and adults were always the worst offenders. The whole time they had talked he hadn't lied once. "Can I...see you again?"
"If that's what you want. I can visit you at night after your mother falls asleep. It can be our little secret."
"I'd think I'd like that."
"I think I would, too." The two-sided mask showed no expression, but Rose was certain she heard the smile in his voice. "Now, let's get you home. If we hurry, your mother won't even know that you were gone."
"Sometimes you hear the bomb"
The boy woke up thrashing as if his comforter were rubble burying him alive. When his mind finally caught up with him- reminding him when and where he was- he groaned and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair. It was not the first time he'd relived that dream. The blocky digital numbers glowing dismally from his clock
(The bomb counting off the last seconds of his life)
disturbed him for some reason. Exhausted, sore, and shivering with sweat, he gave into his lesser instincts and hazarded the icy daggers of the hardwood floor stabbing his bare feet as he stumbled to the mirror hanging over his dresser.
The apartment was a space at war with itself; haphazard clutter common in every teenage boy's room conflicted with meticulous military-like organization. Isles of dirty clothes sandwiched between heavy steel shelves more appropriate for armories and warehouses, pyramids of empty pop cans shared table space with blueprints of various businesses and residences. Magazines covering a mindless spectrum of guns, video games, and swimsuit editions camouflaged strongboxes and army footlockers.
Business mingled with pleasure. A high-definition flat screen television wired to a next-generation video game setup. A worktable strewn with burglary tools and a disassembled utility belt. Shabby kitchen cabinets filled to the brim with ramen and flashbang grenades, and a refrigerator stocked with energy drinks and soda. The freezer had ice-cream and vials of a crimson, unstable chemical.
Fortunately, the landlord was kind enough to keep any questions about how an underage teenager managed to afford such an expensive rent to himself. The under-the-table cash "donations" might have helped too.
Snatching a remote from his nightstand, his numb fingers stumbled over the buttons until the stereo started tumbling the electric strumming rhythms of Jimi Hendrix.
"'There must be some kinda way out of here'…said the Joker to the Thief…"
"Oh screw that."
Click
"Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right, here I am-"
Click
"Expert textpert choking smokers don't you think the Joker laughs at you? (ho, ho, ho, he, he, he, ha, ha-)"
Disgusted with his luck, he killed the sound and threw the remote at a dingy pile of clothes.
When he made it to his mirror, he was glad he hadn't turned on the light. His eyes had adjusted enough to tell him a clearer look at himself wouldn't do anything to lift his spirits. Almost white skin that never saw the sun. Eye sockets that looked bruised from lack of sleep. Years of dyeing his ginger hair black had permanently given it the appearance of bloody charcoal no matter how many times he tried to wash it out.
So he just stood there in the dark, mesmerized by his own reflection, wondering where he went wrong, ignored the trembling of his hands that had nothing to do with cold. He hated when he got like this: insecure, alone, broody, miserable. Only one thing left in his life filled him with any meaning…it gave him purpose, reminded him he was cunning, self-reliant- that destiny was only what you were willing to seize for yourself.
He lifted the mask off the dresser and raised it over his face, marveling how wonderfully whole he felt when it hid his own face from himself.
(Laughter. The crowbar hitting him over and over andoverandoverandover)
And the skull face of Red X chuckled ironically in his mirror. "That which does not kill you makes you stranger…"
Secret Sharing
Once a year, an effort is made for every Titan- East, West, and honorary alike- to gather in one place and just hang out, socialize, party, catch-up with distant friends; call it a kind of family reunion. Now there were several reasons it could only be done once a year: most of the Titans were scattered all over the globe, and super-powers or no, travel arrangements that involved crossing continents were pesky at best. And trying to plan a party around two dozen constantly hectic super-powered teenaged schedules was impossible enough just once a year. Security concerns too, ensured the day and location of the meetings were different. Having every super-hero under drinking age gathered neatly in one place would be too tempting a target for their many, many, many enemies. And no one wanted to get frozen again.
Ironically, the site for this year's powwow ended up being Titan's Tower. It was on an isolated island, had a security system Fort Knox would be getting in a few years, and was big enough to accommodate everyone. The idea was with all the elaborate location changes every year, no one would expect the Titans to gather at the most obvious place.
Or that was how Beast Boy denied the accusation he was lazy.
For its usual five inhabitants, the Tower's common room was spacious bordering on cavernous. With two dozen, it was cramped. And loud.
Raven was not pleased.
Still, at least everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves. Bumblebee, Kole, Argent, and Starfire were "doing the girl-talk". Robin, Speedy, and Bushido- who had no idea the others nicknamed them "The Three Musketeers"- had left for the training room an hour ago for a little casual sparring (the casual part usually tended not to last long; the rest of the party would eventually stop by later to place bets). Gnarrk, being a cave man from the Arctic Circle, was enthralled by the big screen TV and grunted enthusiastically with Cyborg over that night's football game. No one dared comment on the similarities.
Patently ignoring the rule that specifically forbid them from being around one another without supervision, Kid Flash, Thunder and Lightning were nowhere to be found- no doubt planning their encore to last year's prank.
Speaking of scheming, Mas and Menos, having heard how Starfire had learned English and Japanese, were busy hatching an intricate plot to "teach" the alien princess Spanish.
Off in a corner, Beast Boy had an effective monopoly on the karaoke machine they had rented for the night. The changeling had attracted a small audience of Titans and was hamming it up for all it was worth- his rendition of Footloose had them all in hysterics. Not to mention Hungry like the wolf, Kung fu Fighting, The W.A.N.D,and just about every Bon Jovi song ever made.
The real show-stopper was Jinx's arrival on stage. The witch had forgone her usual uniform for a short black skirt, black combat boots, and a fishnet top over a purple t-shirt that said: 'I'm who your parents warned you about'. After stealing the microphone away from Beast Boy, Jinx kicked him off the stage to "show him how it was really done". Every Titan with a Y chromosome had their mouths hanging open when Jinx sang with no sense of decency "I kissed a girl and I liked it!"
Raven had had enough.
Even huddled by herself against the furthest wall wasn't enough to keep her empathic senses from feeling overwhelmed. When just one of her teammates moods felt like a temperature shift, twenty partying, hormonal teenagers was like being in a sweltering room. She was hyper, drained, mellow, happy, and dozens of other conflicting feelings all at once- and picking up the boys'...attention on Jinx while she made a fool of herself onstage was all manner of awkward.
Unfortunately, getting to the safety of her room would mean cutting through the crowd. Instead, she managed to slip away to the roof without anyone noticing.
The shift stepping outside into solitude was dramatic. An air conditioned house during a heatwave; a heavy quiet after deafening noise. It took Raven longer than usual to realize she was not entirely alone. A boy with blond bushy hair and sideburns that looked to be fugitives from the seventies sat with his feet hiked out over the edge of the roof, plucking at the strings of an acoustic guitar. Before Raven could vacate the roof without being noticed, the wind slammed the door shut behind her and the boy looked back at the noise.
Bracing herself, Raven waited for the inevitable pestering questions that would lead to a conversation she wasn't at all in the mood to entertain.
And waited.
Bright, emerald green eyes stared at Raven quizzically. The boy didn't say a word.
That was when Raven finally recognized him. The blond was Jericho, a Titan that could possess anyone he wished just by making eye contact.
A Titan that was also mute.
Duh, Rude snorted from her domain in Nevermore.
Raven ignored her…herself…whatever. "Uh…hi," she greeted him awkwardly. "Sorry. Am I interrupting?"
Jericho shook his head and beckoned her over to him.
She approached him slowly, hesitating as she considered the spot on the ledge he offered. "You're Jericho, right? I'm Raven."
The boy smiled warmly and nodded, then made several fast, complicated gestures with his hands.
Embarrassed, Raven ducked her head further under her hood. "I'm sorry. I don't…well…I don't know sign language."
Jericho's shoulders sank. Raven felt his disappointment and loneliness.
Way to go, moron, Rude congratulated her. She pulled off her hood and sat next to him cross-legged. "That...doesn't mean I can't sit down."
A small smile bloomed with his gratitude. Raven felt his curiosity as he looked pointedly at the roof. Or perhaps, what was below the roof.
Raven grasped his meaning immediately. "I'm not really the party type."
Interest. Why?
She looked down over the roof's edge, watching the waves lap the rocks on the shore. "My powers are linked to my emotions. If I let myself lose control then...bad things happen. That and the ability to feel other people's doesn't help matters much. I just...had to get out there."
Jericho nodded his understanding.
"So you know my story. What are you doing up here?"
With a sardonic look, the blonde played a few notes on his guitar.
"Oh, right. Stupid question."
The more Raven spent time with Jericho, the more she thought he was actually pretty interesting. His face and body language was unusually expressive- a necessity when he couldn't communicate with words, she supposed. When the sorceress lowered her barriers and really concentrated her senses on the boy, Raven was taken aback by the complex array of emotions coming from him.
Before she knew it, she was enjoying his company. It was probably the first time she was ever in a conversation where she was the one doing all the talking.
"So, can you actually play anything on that thing or do you just tune it to attract girls?"
Amused. Joking. The desire to show-off. Smirking, Jericho started playing a song on his guitar. Raven wasn't exactly musical, but she could tell he had talent. It wasn't often she saw live performances- the emotions he felt while he struck the chords integrated perfectly with the music. Just another way of speaking without words.
She was so engrossed it took until the end of the song for her to recognize it. "Johnny Cash?"
Surprise. Impressed. Pleased.
"Robin listens to him a lot. I think he identifies with the whole 'man in black' thing."
Satisfaction. Enjoying his audience, Jericho strummed the first melodies for Solitary Man.
Jericho closed his eyes as he drifted into the music. Raven was content to sit quietly and listen. He played a few songs she knew and a few more she didn't, but that didn't stop her from enjoying herself.
He finished the last notes to his personal style of All Along the Watchtower and let out a tired breath. Smiling shyly at Raven's soft applause, he set down his guitar and pulled at his uniform's high collar- it was a summer night and he tried to cool off his neck with an ocean breeze.
Raven spotted the jagged white scar that cut across his throat just under the tan line. She didn't mean to be so rude and stare, but the implications of the wound shocked her.
When Jericho caught her peeking, she quickly looked away, face burning. "I'm sorry. That was...I shouldn't have been staring like that."
He was trying not to look at her either, she noted. Embarrassment layered over something difficult to read- something incomprehensibly dark. Shame?
"Is that why you can't-" She cut herself off. Of course it's why, what a stupid thing to say. There's no way that was accidental. Carefully she asked, "Who did that to you?"
But of course he couldn't tell her anything. For the first time that night Raven felt Jericho's frustration and anger for being unable to rasp out even a syllable. The scar looked old- how long had it been eating at him? To not be able to let people really understand how he felt, what had happened to him, who was responsible for stealing his voice. A burden that shouldn't be, a secret he could never share.
"You could show me," Raven blurted. The tips of her ears heat up under Jericho's puzzled expression. "If you wanted me to- I could see it."
While Jericho weighed the proposal she had thrown at him, Raven tried to fathom what in the name of Azar she was even thinking. She spends a few calm hours with a boy she barely knows and then offers to dive into his mind and experience what is no doubt one of his most traumatic memories?
But she did know him, Raven thought. Unconventionally, but she knew him. She had been practically swimming in his feelings and music for hours; she knew for a fact theirs was the most intimate interaction Jericho had had in a long time.
In any case, they were both Titans. For any one else on her team that was reason enough to try and help him.
Nervous but committed, Jericho nodded.
They sat across from each other cross-legged and Raven coached him through the ritual. It was essentially the same spell she used to peek into Robin's mind when he was hallucinating Slade, only more precise and less dangerous. Theoretically. He closed his eyes and presented his bare throat to her. Raven's fingers brushed the sensitive skin, feeling the bump of the scar. She found her center, timed her breathing with Jericho's pulse.
"Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos."
She knew the spell worked when she opened her eyes and saw herself, through Jericho's eyes, touching her throat (no, it's his throat- it's too easy to lose your self of self like this). The scar was a physical link to the exact memory she was looking for- and she followed it through the dark. A sensation between falling and being irresistibly pulled. Seeing another's memories was like being on a train- only one direction to go and there's nothing to do but go along for the ride.
She opened her eyes again.
It was difficult to tell where she was exactly. She's surrounded by shadows and decay. All her (his, she had to remind herself) focus was on the man in front of her: body armor, armed to the teeth, a familiar (to her but not to him) mask. In his grasp was saber dripping liquid ruby in one hand and pointed a pistol at her (him) with the other.
No, not at her. A strong arm held her close to someone behind. The cold steel of a knife pressed threateningly at her throat.
"At first I thought the stories about you were exaggerated," her captor said. "But after seeing you in action, I've got to admit you've certainly earned your nickname."
Stone-still, the man replied with cold sibilance (a voice both of them know so well)."I could say the same about yours, Jackal. Going after a man's family."
"Spare me the self-righteous bull, Major. We're both in the same line of work. They pay us to do a job and we do it by any means necessary."
"I don't kidnap children."
"I do," Jackal said. "And I've done a hell of a lot worse to get where I am. But you, you've got a code," he sneered at the word. "No bystanders, no families, no children, no divulging the client's name for any reason." The knife is pressed harder against her throat."Just how far are you willing to take that rule?"
The fear and tears wrestled with the child's hope. He's here to save me, he won't let anything happen to me, he'll kill all the bad guys and I'll be safe and we'll go home to Mom and Grant.
"You know I'm not going to give you that information, Walsh. And I know you're not going to kill him."
"And why's that?"
"He's the only reason you're still alive," he hissed. "Let him go, and I just might let you walk away from this."
"A generous offer, but I have a few rules of my own: Finish the jobs I'm given, never get into a fight I can't win, and..."
She spotted the silhouette moving behind him, but his attention was firmly fixed on her and the Jackal.
"...Never bluff."
Her mouth opened on its own, trying to shout a warning. "Dad! Look o-"
The blade drew searing heat across her throat and instead of screaming all she could do was inhale like she swallowed ground glass.
Falling again. She tried to bolt upright and gasped as strong hands held her down.
It was him. Azar it was him. The costume was different and he had both of his eyes but gods she will never forget that voice.
Oh, and happy birthday.
"Raven!"
Her powers almost lash out but at the last moment she grappled them back under control. The hands on her shoulders were supportive, not malicious. She's relieved to feel the roof of the Tower, the familiar breath of the waves hitting the island, the open night sky above her.
"Rae!" Beast Boy face hovered over hers, looking worried. "You alright?"
"I'm fine, Beast Boy," Raven was surprised to hear her own voice. Her hand instinctively went to her throat to feel for a scar, or maybe a gaping knife-wound.
"You sure?" Cyborg asks. She hadn't even noticed he was there too. "What even happened?
She skirted the question by holding up her hands and asked the boys to help her up. It wasn't really that much of a ruse- her head was killing her.
"How did you even know I was up here?"
"Jericho called for help," Beast Boy said.
Raven raised an eyebrow.
"Text message." Cyborg explained.
"Ah." Jericho. She tried inconspicuously to look around Cyborg for the blond.
"Friend Raven!" was only warning she had before a blur of orange and purple caught her in a crushing hug. "We had heard there was an emergency! Are you unharmed?"
"...I was..." she choked.
Robin had also appeared on the roof and looked at his team for an explanation. "What happened?"
"That's what we're trying to find out," Cyborg replied.
There. Raven spotted Jericho behind the others, quiet and in the background. She didn't need empathic powers to see the guilt on his face. "I'm okay," she said as she pried off Starfire. "The party was getting too crowded for me, so I came up to the roof to meditate. I guess I underestimated just how unbalanced I was. Sorry to worry you all."
"Well, we're just glad Jericho was here," Robin said.
"Yes," Raven says to him. "Thank you." Her hands moved with a trace of memory and formed signs she somehow knew to mean, Not your fault. He smiled tentatively back at her until Starfire trapped him in a 'hug of thanks'.
Pulling up her hood, Raven asked. "Is the party over yet?"
Cyborg shook his head. "Still going strong. Last I saw Jinx was leading all the lady Titans through a chorus of 'save a horse, ride a cowboy'."
"Charming."
An sudden wind whipped at Raven's cloak when Mas Y Menos zipped onto the roof in front of her, stacked on each other like an annoying totem pole.
"¿Somos demasiado tarde?" Menos said.
Mas waggled his eyebrows. "¿Necesita boca-a-boca?"
Raven groaned. Those hyperactive idiots were not helping her headache. "What are they going on about?"
"They are wondering if Friend Raven is to be needing the mouth-to-mouth," Starfire translated.
"They're welcome to try, but no court would convict me."
Robin blinked. "Star? When did you learn Spanish?"
Heeeeey guys. Remember when I said I'd post this chapter a few days after the part I? Well, as I've been chewing on my sneaker for the past two years more stuff happened. How rude is reality, am I right? Long story short, the family has a new addition- I've spent a good two decades being the baby of the family and now I have a little brother. He's twenty months old now and I call him the Ewok because he's adorable but you can't understand a word he says.
You'll notice that Saiyoko and I have been absent for quite a long time, and we are sorry for that, but working so we can live unfortunately takes priority. One cannot live on reviews alone (though that would be sweet if you could). Well, 'theredrobin', you did say you'd be perfectly willing to wait another two years- congratulations, you're prophetic!
Kidding aside, I'm living on my own now and while things aren't necessarily calmer, they are under control for now. I already posted another one-shot on my account a few days ago and have several new chapters for Five Stories in the works, but I know better than to promise anything (consider that lesson learned). All I can do is what everyone is really doing right now: buckling down and hoping for the best.
Thanks for reading,
-Cy
P.S. All Along the Watchtower is originally the property of Bob Dylan, Stuck in the Middle With You belongs to Stealers Wheel, I am the Walrus is from The Beatles, I Kissed A Girl is Katy Perry's, and Save a Horse is Big and Rich.
P.P.S. I hope my Spanish wasn't terrible- I took Japanese in High School.