Chapter 7 of What's Up, Danger?: A Dark Alley and A Bad Idea
3:15 PM, Sunday
Roy kicked his feet up on the coffee table amidst the remnants of mostly empty styrofoam containers of takeaway (save for a few scoops of fried rice and a single remaining egg roll that they would probably grapple with one another for later), empty sauce packets, and gaming controllers. The large TV screen in front of him played the title sequence of a racing game as fast-paced electronic music filled the apartment.
Except for the leftover carnage of lunch on the low table in front of him, Jason's apartment—Roy refused to call it a "safe house", it was more like a lair—was remarkably clean and organized. From the weapons mounted on the wall with care to the bookshelves that bookended the entertainment system in the living room area, it didn't even remotely resemble the chaotic DIY mad-scientist-weapons-engineering-lab-energy that was Roy's place. It looked lived in and comfortable, although a bit minimal, despite the weapons and armor that were visible and the corner nook that contained a large desk covered in several monitors and keyboards.
The only thing truly odd about it was Jason's insistence to greet some of the inanimate objects whenever he came home from patrol ("Hello, safe house. Hello, kitchen. Hello, bed.").
The toilet flushed and Jason emerged from the bathroom, scratching the back of his head as he sat back down on the couch next to Roy. Jason threw an arm over the backrest as he also lifted his feet on the coffee table.
Roy shifted his feet to make space for his friend and accidentally knocked over an empty drink cup, the paper cup rolled onto the floor and something small and rectangular clattered next to it.
"Oh, shit, sorry," Roy muttered as he moved to squat down on the floor.
As he moved to pick up the cup, his blue eyes noticed the shiny black USB.
"What's this for?" Roy held up the small data stick. He turned to look at Jason and shifted his gaze back and forth between the USB and his friend, wiggling his eyebrows and smiling deviously as a teasing thought entered his head. "Is it, you know…?"
"What?-no!" Jason dragged a hand across his forehead because of course that would be the conclusion Roy would jump to. "You think I'd leave a thumb drive full of porn out?"
He leaned forward and snatched the USB out of Roy's fingers, remembering Tim had given it to him a few nights ago. He had meant to look through it…on his own time before it had gotten buried under takeout containers throughout the week (a vigilante had to eat after all) and, subsequently, mostly—if not completely—forgotten.
Roy raised his hands, his body rocking with laughter. "Look, I'm not judging! What a man hides on a thumbdrive is his own business, Jaybird."
Jason couldn't even muster the energy to glower at Roy, he knew when his friend was simply trying to goad him. Instead, Jason decided to be petty and hastily picked up the last remaining egg roll with his pair of chopsticks and devoured it in one bite. Roy watched in horror and mouthed soundlessly, "You monster!"—as he saw the deep-fried morsel vanish down Jason's gullet.
"You made me do this," Jason said, a mouthful of pork and shredded cabbage before he swallowed it.
There was a moment of silence in memory of the egg rolls.
"So, what's really on it?" Roy asked, reclining back and sinking into the couch cushions.
Jason slipped the storage device into his pants pocket and picked up a controller. "If you beat me, I'll tell you."
The corner of Roy's lips pulled up into an impish smirk and his eyes lit up. "You're on!"
And Roy lost, badly.
"Are you sure you don't want to visit for the weekend? You know Roz and I worry."
Sabine opened the door to her apartment building with one hand while holding her phone to her ear with the other. It was nice to hear her father's voice. The tenor tone of his voice was gentle, bright, and comforting, and took her back to memories of her childhood when he would read passages from his collection of F. Scott Fitzgerald books to her before bed.
"Dad, it's fine, everything's fine," she stepped inside the complex and was instantly greeted by the warmth of the heater in the building, a welcome relief from the chilly air outside. She closed the door behind her and ripped off her beanie. "I'm…fine."
She wasn't fine. But she could pretend to be. She wasn't going to go running home with her tail tucked between her legs in defeat and admit that Gotham was too much for her. She was going to ride out this bump of turbulence of shitty life events like she always did.
There was a short gap of silence on the other end of the line. Finally, she heard her father exhale heavily in the manner that only worried and disappointed parents did.
"Well, call me if you need anything," he said. "Anything. I mean it."
She trudged up the steps to her apartment, wishing for the hundredth time that the old building had an elevator.
"Thanks, dad. I'll see you guys for Thanksgiving," she responded, short on breath from the exertion of stair climbing. "I love you. Tell Roz and Logan I said hi."
"Love you too, Beans."
Before she could even balk at the nickname that had haunted her since childhood, the call ended. Sabine shoved her apartment key into the lock and turned it, opening the door.
Stepping inside, she realized her apartment was still a mess from her attempt at reorganizing it a few weeks ago. Her studio was as disorganized and scattered as her thoughts. She had started the project in a fit of chaotic nervous energy and quickly abandoned it—or forgot about it. Books remained piled on the floor, clean but unfolded laundry was thrown over the backrest of her couch and chairs, pots, pans, and Tupperware littered her kitchen counter, and some of her art prints and posters were on the floor, leaning against the walls she meant to mount them on.
The strange thing about all this was that she swore that she had put some things away, little by little over the past few days. Then she would wake up the next day and things would be back in their unorganized piles as if she had never touched them. Maybe it was her restlessness that was making her forgetful; maybe she hadn't put that tower of stacked plastic containers into a cabinet over the stove (although she was partially convinced that she had repeated this task a handful of times now).
Sabine unbuttoned her dark grey peacoat and hung it up on the rack by the doorway before making her way over to her bed and flopping down onto the duvet on her belly with her limbs sprawled out. She wasn't in the mood to continue to worry or fret about the state of her apartment.
She knitted her eyebrows together as she rolled onto her back and hugged a pillow to her chest, her feet dangled over the side as she kicked off her black kitten heels. Her black dress and leggings had accumulated a noticeable amount of dust in the past few hours.
The past two weeks had been…rough. To say that she hadn't been sleeping well-if at all-would have been a massive understatement. Anxiety and restlessness coiled inside of her like a snake waiting to strike.
She felt so stupid for worrying about falling behind academically when she found out the reason lecture classes were canceled; Professor Storrison had passed away. Although she did not know Professor Storrison well personally, aside from a few after class and discussions during his office hours regarding essays and tests, it was hard not to be impacted by the sudden loss.
His partner, Professor Wood, a linguistic anthropologist, had been her favorite teacher while working on her undergraduate degree—she even wrote one of Sabine's letters of recommendation for law school.
The student memorial in Professor Storrison's memory that was held at the university earlier that afternoon had been all right—as all right as a memorial service could be—but Sabine, and others, noticed Professor Wood's absence.
Sabine had already sent her a condolences card, which was probably one amongst many Professor Wood would be receiving in the following weeks, but the gesture felt so hollow and empty, like going through the motions. How did a card adequately express your sympathies to someone who just lost a loved one?
No one knew what exactly had happened, just that it had been unexpected. A heart attack was the story she and the others had been told at the memorial service by a Teaching Assistant. But there was something about it that didn't rub Sabine the right way. She couldn't explain it—the deep twisting and cold feeling inside her gut told her that something else had happened, that something was wrong. However, she kept that thought to herself and her lips zipped tight.
She pushed herself upright on the bed. Mulling over troubling thoughts wouldn't help anyone. So what could she do? She tried to focus on her surroundings, on the present and where she was, not where her mind was.
Her hands fingered the soft bed sheets underneath her, she inhaled the scent of old wood that filled her apartment, she heard the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of wind rattling her windows.
Blowing out a long and noisy breath of air, she stood up. She still had time before work to do her daily rooftop check-in for her favorite stray cat.
She slipped on a pair of boots by her door and grabbed her jacket before leaving her apartment. Heading for the stairwell at the end of the hallway, she pulled her jacket over her shoulders and put her arms through the sleeves, bracing for the brisk fall air.
Stepping outside and onto the roof, Sabine looked for the cat food and water bowls she had left out. Her heart sank even further when she noticed that they had not even been touched, by CEO or any other nearby hungry critter. The water in the bowl had only decreased overnight evaporation due to evaporation, the faded waterline visible above the amount left inside.
Still, she emptied both bowls and re-filled them, hoping fresh kibble and water would entice the tuxedo cat. Worrying about a cat that wasn't even hers was almost like rubbing salt in her emotional and mental wounds.
Sabine sat down on one of the rusty iron chairs, she could feel the icy metal through the fabric of her clothes, hoping for a glimpse of CEO before she left for her work shift.
How long had it been since her last CEO sighting? Two weeks? More? It felt like forever since she had last scratched him behind his ears or given his fuzzy belly rubs.
Minutes ticked by until she knew she had to go back to her apartment and prepare for work. She skewed her mouth to the side in dismay as she got back onto her feet.
Back to the grind, literally, grinding coffee beans.
Something had to go right for her eventually though, right? Right?
9:50 PM, Sunday
Red Hood waited, crouching low on the rooftop that overlooked that alleyway of C&D Cafe. The back door was propped open and he heard pop music coming from inside. The cafe was closed, only the evening shift workers remained inside, cleaning the establishment and getting it ready for the next business day.
It was useless to try and get information out of Marjorie Wood, she was inconsolable after the loss of her partner. And after finding the body like that, who wouldn't be? There was no point in interrogating a grieving and traumatized woman. Jason had watched the fuzzy CCTV footage Oracle had forwarded him from the hospital and police station where she was questioned; Wood's shock and grief were real.
So, that was a dead end.
But digging through the files Oracle had compiled revealed something interesting—a photo posted on one of Marjorie Wood's social media accounts from two years ago of her smiling with an arm thrown around the shoulders of one of her graduating students, Sabine Aberdeen-Song. Her hair was longer, past her shoulders, and she didn't yet have sleep-deprivation bags under her eyes, but it was unmistakably her.
Under the photo was a simple caption:
So proud of my students graduating today! Congratulations!
It was a loose connecting thread, but it was something. He doubted Batman or Red Robin would pursue this avenue in their investigation. After all, a picture with a student was innocuous. But maybe it meant that Sabine was close with Marjorie Wood. Maybe Sabine would know if anyone had an ax to grind with Storrison, or if anyone wanted him dead.
A friendly nighttime chat couldn't hurt, could it?
He waited in the shadows, listening and watching. Almost an hour passed of crouching. His knees began to ache as he became restless, and started to think I'm so bored, someone please kill me again—
—when Sabine finally emerged from the backdoor with three large garbage bags in her hands, and a miffed expression on her face. Luckily for him, it looked like she got stuck with trash duty again. The front of her apron was covered in dark stains from coffee and tea, and her brow was beaded with perspiration. He watched as she dropped the bags on the ground and wiped the sweat off her brow with her forearm.
As she heaved the trash bags over the edge of the dumpster, one by one, Jason quietly scaled down the wall behind her.
It was the sound of heavy boots landing on the pavement behind her that triggered Sabine's fight or flight response. Her defenses were already on high alert from the past few weeks and she was not in the mood for some tweaked or mugger to mess with her tonight. She planted her feet and her left hand curled into a fist. Pivoting on her back heel, she swung around with her fist raised, ready to release her pent-up frustration and anxiety.
Her punch connected with something tall and dark with a crimson bat on it—her eyebrows shot up when she realized it was the hard planes of the Red Hood's chest. Jesus Christ.
"Holy shit, I'm so-so sorry," she managed to eke out before recoiling her fist as a shock of pain shot rolled through it. She cradled her hand to her chest as her fingers and forearm throbbed. "What are you made out of?—bricks?"
He chuckled, although it sounded menacing and muffled through his helmet. "Heh, body armor actually."
Red Hood rapped his knuckles against his chest and the material, which appeared deceptively like cloth fabric, made a hollow sound.
It wasn't his intent to surprise her. Sneaking around in the shadows was an old habit, though; an old habit that had been ingrained in him from even before he was part of the green underwear squad.
It was a good thing the impact didn't set off the taser embedded in his suit or that he hadn't used it reflexively in defense. Red Hood doubted she would have appreciated being electrocuted.
He felt a pinch of pride that she had put the impromptu punching lesson to good use, even if it hadn't been effective on him. Her form hadn't been awful (although he did tell her not to swing her arm out) and her quick response was an improvement over being petrified in fear. Maybe she would survive Gotham after all.
Sabine's gaze tightened on him as the pain in her arm ebbed away. She clenched her teeth, her jaw setting in place as she bristled. "Why are you still following me?"
It was the same question she had asked on the rooftop of her apartment complex. She crossed her arms and turned away from him, closing herself off and feeling uneasy in his presence. Did anyone ever feel at ease in the presence of Gotham's vigilantes? If so, she wasn't one of them.
"I'm not following you," Red Hood replied with a small shrug and a careless hand gesture in the air, as if attempting to brush aside the tension, "you just happen to coincidentally be someone I want to ask a few questions."
"Following, creeping around, looming overhead…" she mumbled to herself as she began to pace and directed another piercing gaze in his direction, "…stalking."
Red Hood grimaced under the helmet as he watched her mutter. So, maybe this hadn't been his best idea.
She scratched her nose, ignoring the fact that her fingers smelled like used coffee filters and egg sandwiches. Her life was becoming more and more eventful than she was used to these days. "Well, what do you want to ask then? Let's get this over with."
Red Hood leaned back against the opposite wall, crossing one leg in front of the other, and folding his arms across his chest. He cocked his head to one side.
Right to the point. "What can you tell me about Alek Storrison?"
The mention of Professor Storrison's name felt like a gut punch, knocking the air out of her lungs, and her body stiffened. The memorial had only been earlier that day and was still vivid in her mind; the sad faces and tears, the flickering lit candles, the photo of Alek Storrison with his drooping eyes behind square glasses and bushy beard that framed his aged face under the large bold words: IN MEMORY OF.
Her teeth tugged at her bottom lip. "You mean regarding his death, don't you?"
Red Hood nodded.
The vigilante's hard focus on her made her feel uncomfortable, she wasn't sure she would ever get used to the narrowed white slits on his mask looking at her. Didn't he have anything better to do than sneaking around in dark alleys and scaring the shit out of Gotham's working class?
"I don't know anything," Sabine said in a stern tone, wishing for this encounter to end quickly, "we only found out that he passed away a few days ago."
"You were close with his partner though, weren't you? Marjorie Wood was like a faculty mentor to you."
Sabine looked down, trying to hide her confusion. How did he know that?
"I haven't spoken to her either. I heard she's taken a leave of absence for the rest of the semester."
"Well, do either of them have any enemies?"
Enemies. He posed the question as if it were a normal question to ask.
Sabine didn't know how to respond other than with a disbelieving shake of her head. "That's a helluva question to ask someone who barely knows them—look, Professor Wood was wonderful to me during undergrad, she's a wonderful professor. And from what I heard and experienced, Professor Storrison was wonderful as well. Okay—so he was a little cranky at times and his lectures were dry as sand…" she trailed off for a moment before clearing her throat, embarrassed that she had let her words run away from her briefly. "I can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt either of them. For fuck's sake, they both even volunteer at the animal shelter on weekends and fostered a few kids back in the day from what I heard. They're saints compared to most people in this city."
Red Hood made a loud huff through his helmet. Was the bar really set that low to be considered a good person in Gotham? "Well, someone thought that Storrison would look better as a piece of jerky."
She paused mid-step, her voice caught in her throat. A chill she hadn't felt in years crawled down her spine and spread to her limbs. Dread. Fear. Panic. Stomach acid in her throat. Glimpses and visions of a corpse, dried and withered, reaching towards her…
Sabine blinked several times before facing him, her color-drained face etched with panic. "Wh-what did you say?"
The question was rhetorical, she had heard him perfectly well even though she wished she hadn't. She hoped, in vain, that she misheard.
"Someone hated this guy enough to essentially mummify him in a matter of seconds."
It took the weight of his words a few seconds to sink into her mind. Red Hood stared at her, watching her process this revelation. It looked like his little fishing expedition for information revealed something useful after all. He could see a disquieting terror slowly consume her expression—wide eyes, quivering lips, color draining from her face—through the dim light.
No, no, no. He had had a heart attack. That's what she'd been told and she wanted to believe it now. Why did her bad feelings almost always turn out to be true? She felt fucking cursed.
"I'm talking real The Mummy type of shit," Red Hood continued, drawing her out of her spiraling thoughts and back into the conversation.
Sabine gaped at him incredulously, her alarm subsiding for the moment. "You've seen The Mummy?"
"What? Who hasn't? You think I run around like this every night?" He pointed at his helmet and laughed darkly. "I have a life…sometimes."
The civilians in Gotham thought that the city's urban legends spent every night pummeling criminals into the pavement.
Sabine regarded Red Hood. His attempt at humor or movie references didn't put her at ease. Finally, she found her voice again.
"Look, I don't think—no, I don't know anything." She shoved her hands into her pockets, uncomfortable and eager to get back inside. The cold night air made goosebumps erupt on her exposed arms.
Red Hood almost wanted to press her. She was lying. And she wasn't very good at it. Maybe it was the fact that he knew her outside of his uniform that held him back, or maybe it was because he saw the familiar glint of trauma flash in her eyes that he had seen in himself in the mirror after waking up from a nightmare. He decided that that was enough for one night. For now.
She left to go back inside and finish her closing shift, but halted in the doorway, and tossed one more glance at Red Hood over her shoulder. "Good luck with your investigation-thing."
The sincerity in her words was a surprising change from her usual tone with him and it almost caught him off guard.
Sabine pulled the door close behind her, leaving him alone in the alley. At least she wasn't slamming doors in his face anymore. It was small steps like these towards progress that mattered (or something like that).
In the distance, gunshots fired and sirens blared, barely giving him time to collect his thoughts. From the tremor in her voice, she knew something.
The comm in his ear crackled with static:
"We have a hostage situation, Hood. Police almost had it under control until the guy hijacked a car with the victim and took off. Police are in pursuit but need help."
"They must have screwed up on that one if the guy managed to make off with a hostage in a car."
Never a dull moment in Gotham.
He un-holstered his grappling hook and fired it, its metal claws latched onto the roof of the building above him. He tugged the line once, making sure it was secure.
"Hey, Oracle, do me a favor."
He heard furious keyboard clacking over the comm line. Even Oracle's keystrokes sounded tense.
"Now's not exactly the time. Hostage situation, remember?"
"Well, when you do have a minute, can you put together a file for me on a young woman named Sabine Aberdeen-Song?"
A/N: The! Plot! Is! Moving! Forward!
Apologies for the slow updates, wish I could say that I'm usually a fast writer…but I'm not. ?ￂﾠ
I promise there's some good ol' hurt/comfort and fluff I have planned coming down the pipeline soon though!
Thank you for all the reviews/comments, kudos, faves, subscriptions, and bookmarks!