Chapter 8 of What's Up, Danger?: For Whom the Alarm Clock Tolls
(It Tolls for Thee)
1:20 PM, Monday—Bludhaven
A grey and white pit bull careened headfirst into Jason's shin from excitement. Jason yelped and hopped on one foot and hugged his shin to his chest as the puppy ran in frantic circles around him.
"I see you met Haley," Barbara said, grinning ear to ear as the eager dog trotted over to the side of her wheelchair, "otherwise known as Bitewing. I'm sure you've seen the photos in the group chat?"
"Well, I certainly met her rock-hard head," Jason complained through gritted teeth. He made his way down the short hallway to the living room where Barbara had her computer set up.
The front of his shin throbbed. How the hell did a dog's head hit harder than a grown man's fist? However, one look from Haley with her ears perked up, tongue hanging out of the side of her slobbering mouth, and her luminous eyes lit up with joy made him forgive her instantly.
Barbara's fiery orange hair and freckles stood out in the afternoon sunlight that poured in through the large apartment windows. She scratched Haley's ear and closed her laptop.
The sound of a ringtone pierced the quiet hum of electronics in the apartment. Haley's ears were up, attentive to the intrusive noise, as dread rolled through Jason, his mind already guessing who was on the other line.
Barbara raised her index finger to her lips to shush him as she took the incoming call.
"Hi, Dick," Barbara chirped as she adjusted her glasses and leaned her ear against her cellphone, "what's up? Coming back soon?"
Don't tell him I'm here, Jason mouthed as he made an X in front of his body with his arms.
Barbara glanced at Jason and nodded. "A late lunch date? That would be nice."
Jason exhaled in relief and leaned against the desk her laptop was perched on and folded his arms across his chest.
He was safe. For now.
Barbara mhmmed as Dick talked on the other end of the line.
"Well, actually…" her eyes flickered in Jason's direction and she smirked deviously. A bad sign. "…Jason's here and he said he'd treat us."
WHAT? Jason exploded silently, his head snapping in Barbara's direction. He gestured wildly between himself and her phone. I told you to tell him I'm not here, he mouthed angrily. He wrung his hands and glared at her. The betrayal!
Barbara tried to hold in her laughter as she watched Jason's face redden like a tomato. "Uh-huh, yeah." A pause and Jason's ears tried to pick up Dick's voice on the other end of the phone, but he couldn't make out what was being said. It sounded so muffled. "Of course, let's bring Haley too. The girl needs a walk. We'll meet you there."
Barbara hit the end call button on her phone and busied herself by wheeling herself over to a closet in the hallway. She opened the door and pulled out a light purple jacket. Quickly, she shoved her hands through the sleeves before returning to the living room, her chair stopping in front of her desk.
"So," Jason grumbled, putting his hands on his hips broodily, "you two are back together?"
She hummed contentedly in response. "Something like that. We're taking it slow."
Although there was evidence throughout Dick's apartment that Barbara had more-or-less moved in; a jacket of hers here, a throw blanket or two of hers there, an extra toothbrush for her in the bathroom. The minimal amount of furniture was accented by colorful and lively touches of decor that Barbara had contributed to the shared living space.
Jason rubbed his forehead, hoping that the action would smooth out the aged wrinkles Barbara gave him. "I told you to tell him that I wasn't here."
"Oh?" she teased, enjoying the way her surly friend squirmed. "It looked like you were saying that you wanted to come along to me."
"Bullshit, you can read lips. You knew what I said," Jason bit back.
"Can you get Haley's leash off the hook by the door?" Barbara asked, ignoring Jason's protests as she gathered some documents on her desk and slipped them into a folder.
"Why would I want to have lunch with Dick?" Jason asked, simmering with quiet rage as he complied with her request, fetching the blue harness and leash. Of course the shade of blue matched the Nightwing uniform too. Absolutely nauseating.
Haley's head perked up when she heard the familiar jingle of her leash and she excitedly barrelled towards him again, her tongue dangling out of her mouth.
"I did what you asked," she said, pointing towards the folder on her desk that had documents sandwiched in-between it. "And I'll give it to you on the condition that you have lunch with us."
Jason's jaw hardened in place. So Babs was blackmailing him. He should have anticipated this.
"Jason," she continued, peering at him over the rims of her glasses as she tied her hair up in a ponytail, "how much do you know about this woman already?"
"Not much," he replied sheepishly. It wasn't a lie. He only knew a handful of things about her, but the way she panicked when he described Storrison's death to her triggered a dozen questions in his mind. She was hiding something.
He saw Barbara's troubled expression. She dragged her teeth over her bottom lip as if mulling over what to say next.
Jason cocked his head. "What is it?"
"Well, it's less about her and more about her mother," Barbara explained as Haley whined at Jason's feet.
Jason leaned his shoulder against the wall across from Barbara. Unconsciously, his fingers rubbed the coarse material of the dog leash in his hand, it felt as dry as his mouth at that moment.
"Don't leave me in suspense. How bad is it?" he prodded, curiosity piqued.
Because it couldn't be that bad, right?
Her hand settled on the cover of the file, her fingers drummed on top of it as she blew out a long puff of air.
Oh, it was that bad, huh?
Barbara's lips screwed into an uneasy frown. "The reports were hard to find, but her mother died similarly to Alek Storrison. She's also the one who discovered the body…that happened when she was seven."
Well, shit.
Barbara sucked in a deep breath, her eyes darting between Jason and the files under her hand. "Jason, I should forward this stuff to Bruce. He'd want to know if someone—especially someone in Gotham—could have a connection with this."
The hair on the back of Jason's neck bristled like an animal backed into a corner and he objected. "Yeah, but—"
Barbara raised a hand to silence him, and continued. "—which is why I only made one hard copy of this file."
Her eyes narrowed under her slanted brows, contemplating the difficult decision in front of her; torn between her feelings of loyalty to Bruce and her burning desire to trust and help Jason. But she had already made her decision, she knew this. She had made her decision as soon as he had asked her for help. However, guilt was a tricky thing. She didn't like the idea of keeping secrets from Bruce or Dick, but Jason deserved a chance to be trusted. And she wanted to help him.
Jason sensed a big 'but' coming. There was always a catch.
"—But if this starts going sideways, I'm calling in the cavalry on this," she finished in a decisive tone.
Jason hmphed at this. Their eyes met. Jason scowled and Barbara pursed her lips. Their silent and sharp expressions had a wordless yet heated conversation in the sunbathed apartment.
"All right," Jason nodded in agreement, giving in and letting the tension roll off his shoulders, "deal." The terms were acceptable.
He slipped the harness around Haley's wriggling body and fastened the collar around her neck.
"So," he wrinkled his nose, "where are we meeting up with dear old Dickie-bird?" His words coated with animosity.
Barbara came up behind him and pinched the back of his arm. "My second term is that you're going to be civil. Got it?"
Jason grunted, rubbing the area she pinched. "You can't just add on terms like that."
She arched an eyebrow as she took Haley's leash from his hands. "Oh, can't I? Be anything less than civil and I'm going to make it so that your voice scrambler in your helmet makes you sound like a squirrel that inhaled helium for the next month."
Jason snickered at the thought of Red Hood sounding like a deranged cartoon character. He opened the front door and made way for Barbara and Haley. "That's really not the threat you think it is. If anything, that might make me more terrifying."
11:50 PM, Monday
Jason tilted back in his computer chair with the files on Sabine Aberdeen-Song laid out on top of his desk. It wasn't a particularly thick file—but the information that Barbara had uncovered was certainly illuminating.
There were brief moments as his eyes scanned the text and images before him where he felt guilty. She didn't deserve to have someone like him poking through her past like she was a criminal. As far as he could tell from meeting her a few times, Sabine was perfectly normal; she was chatty, friendly, smart, a tad naive, but normal.
And what he read in the file regarding her mother's death was anything but normal.
The autopsy report contained the standard information: the case number, the name of the deceased, her birthdate, date of death, the name of the medical examiner, the cause of death…
And there was more.
Photos of the scene where Olivia's body was found were paper-clipped to the back of the autopsy report.
It was hard to make out the small details in the photos Barbara had printed out, but using a magnifying glass he kept in his desk drawer he could see that the walls of the room her body was found in were covered in strange symbols.
Well, that's not a good sign.
The report only indicated that Olivia had died under 'unusual circumstances' (yeah, no shit). Dehydration and starvation were listed as possible causes. The medical examiner postulated that Olivia must have died several months, or possibly years, before the discovery of her body. Which was not possible because Sabine's testimony attested that she had seen her mother alive that morning before she left for school.
Jason reminded himself that this had happened less than two decades ago, a time before capes and heroes and vigilantes were making headlines. A time before it was public knowledge that metahumans, aliens, and magic existed. A time when something like this was thought to not be possible.
He shifted the papers.
Several reports from Child Protective Services indicated that Olivia had been reported several times for neglect by Sabine's teachers. They reported that she looked malnourished and that her clothes were dirty. It looked like her mother had a tough time keeping a job and bounced from place to place with her daughter; a story Jason himself knew too well.
He tore his eyes away from the report. It felt like a cruel joke, both of them having deadbeat mothers and losing them when they were still so young; young enough to understand that their mothers, as imperfect as they were, still cared for them.
Underneath a purple post-it note (that had Barbara's handwriting scrawled on it: You owe me. Big.) was a black and white photo of Olivia Aberdeen, a woman with luminous eyes and cascading hair that fell in loose curls around her shoulders. Beautiful and ethereal. The second photo of Olivia beneath the first one showed her two months before her death. A mug shot. Her cheeks were gaunt and hollow, her eyes lost their shine.
Flipping through the pictures, he saw the hints of resemblance in the shape of her eyes, nose, and lips with Sabine but little else.
She must take after her father, Jason thought as he flipped over Olivia's photo to the picture of Nicholas Song's face.
The resemblance was stronger there. She had her father's dark hair and eyes. They even had the same dimples on the sides of their mouths and crinkles around their eyes.
His skin tightened over his knuckles and his face felt hot. Where the hell Nicholas Song was in all this when his daughter was going to school starving?
Jason arranged the papers on Sabine's parents until the files were side by side. He felt like he was committing an invasion of privacy, worse than reading her diary or something. It never bothered him in the past when investigating a case, but Sabine was…
…they weren't friends, Jason told himself. Friendly with one another, yes—but not friends.
He could be objective.
He had to be objective.
His mind only sank deeper.
Why was this bothering him so much?
(He could still hear the snark in Damian's voice when he told him he was "too emotional" as if it were a searing indictment of his character.)
There was more information to read over, but he had enough for one night. He had not planned on going on patrol that night, there was too much noise in his head. And lunch with Dick and Barbara had completely wiped out his putting-up-bullshit meter.
He pushed the chair away from the desk and stood up. As he turned his head, his sleep-laden eyes caught the sight of the digital clock on the nightstand next to his bed just as the red glowing numbers changed from 11:59 to 12:00.
Jason's mind froze. His breathing hastened, matching the pace of his racing heart. With each panicked breath, it felt like the air was being sucked out of the room. His palms went cold and sweaty.
The red numbers on the digital clock seemed to move on their own, the lines swimming as they rearranged themselves. He heard the ticking in his ears as the numbers counted down.
12…11…10…
The room faded from his view, the edges of his vision fuzzed with black. He smelled oil and smoke. His chest heaved painfully. Familiar places in his body pulsed with fresh bruises and broken bones.
9…8…7…
The calmness that settled over his face betrayed the feeling of impending doom that blossomed inside him. He tasted bitter metal on his tongue and felt the sensation of blood overflowing onto his lips.
6…5…4…
The stone-cold feeling of the acceptance of his fate washed over him as his heart thundered between his ribcage. He knew what was coming. He couldn't stop it. Why fight anymore?
3…2…1…
The explosion that he braced himself for never came. The searing aches he felt all over his body dissipated, gradually. He inhaled and his lungs filled with air without gasping in agony. His vision sharpened as the objects in his room came back into focus.
The numbers on the clock changed again.
12:01
The haunting glow of the numbers didn't settle the restless ghosts in Jason's mind.
He stalked across the room and violently picked up the digital clock, ripping the cord out of the outlet before tossing it into the wastebasket. The clock face smashed from the impact.
Irritably, he collapsed on his bed, fanning out his limbs on the red sheets before covering his eyes with a forearm. Restless. Annoyed with himself. Alone and feeling the suffocating weight of memories.
He closed his eyes and exhaled noisily out his nose.
Tonight was just pissing him off.
11:05 AM, Tuesday
Sabine peered up at Jason under the rim of the grey hood of her peacoat she had pulled up over her head. "You don't have to wait with—"
"It's fine, I don't mind—"
"You don't have to—"
"I don't mind," Jason reassured her by gently knocking his elbow against her shoulder. It was an attempt of his at a comforting gesture.
They waited together under the cramped shelter that the bus stop offered from the sudden downpour. They weren't alone. Several others had the same idea to seek refuge from the rain.
Sabine had nestled herself in front of Jason to make room for others, acutely aware that her back was skimming against his broad chest. Her awareness of their proximity took her by surprise. The planes of his chest grazed her shoulders with every breath he took and whenever he readjusted his stance behind her.
It wasn't a bad thing, him being so close, she thought. She was simply…aware of it.
The phantom thoughts from the previous night still floated around like unwelcome figments in the back of Jason's mind. It was tiring, feeling perpetually haunted. Like he didn't belong amongst the living. Maybe that was a part of why he did what he did; stalking and hunting through the shadows of night. It was a way to remind himself that he was breathing again, not just a name or a cautionary tale.
And spite. Spite was an amazing motivator.
Jason had offered to walk Sabine to class. It seemed almost like clockwork these days, bumping into one another once a week. The routine provided them both with a sense of solace that they hadn't anticipated either. It was funny how seeing a familiar face could swing one's mood.
If either of them had paid any attention to the weather report last night, or at any point over the weekend, they would have known about the incoming storm that was supposed to plague Gotham for the next few days.
Jason's black hair was wet. He slicked it and back out of his eyes, although droplets of water from his hairline trickled down his face. There was some redness in the whites of his eyes, a telltale sign that he had suffered another sleepless night. Sabine noticed, but said nothing.
The water had already made its way through Sabine's canvas sneakers, uncomfortably drenching her socks and feet. She wiggled her toes in her damp socks. Gross.
"Do you need change for the bus?" Jason asked, rummaging through his pockets. He could have sworn he had a few loose quarters and dimes. His pockets jingled with half a dozen metal coins.
Sabine chuckled because he sounded like a worried mother hen. "No, mom, I'm fine." Her voice softened when she noticed him pout, his bottom lip sticking out in annoyance. "Thank you for offering, though."
Despite the closeness of their bodies and the warmth they felt radiating from one another, their minds were miles apart. Both ruminating on their separate dilemmas.
He couldn't ask her the questions he wanted to. Not as Jason, at least. He contemplated what to do next and how to proceed with the investigation. Sabine was not fond of Red Hood, that much was clear judging from their encounters. But if there was a way to earn her trust, to get her to talk, to reveal what information she might know…that was worthy of some consideration.
Sabine gazed blankly out at the rain, watching it pelt the pavement and listening to the rhythmic pitter-patter. Her thoughts jumped around: from her upcoming exams and essay deadlines to her dead-end part-time job to that stupid missing cat that she cared too much about. It made her sick with worry to think about CEO out in the rain by himself, probably cold and hungry and shivering.
Through the sheets of rain and misty haze, Jason saw the bus approaching. Sabine heard it splash through puddles, spraying the sidewalk with rainwater as it drove across the nearest intersection.
"It's so lame," Sabine sighed dejectedly, "I keep worrying about this dumb cat. It's not even mine, it's a stray. But I worry about the fuzzball every day."
Maybe her therapist was right. With all of the out-of-control things happening in her life, focusing on the cat was her way of trying to bring things back under her control.
Jason side-eyed her. He remembered the night on the roof, going to thank her from the goodness of his reanimated heart, and her retaliating by throwing a ceramic bowl at him. There had been a large cat by her feet. Then, later, another night when he was near her neighborhood and the cat had approached him for scraps from his burrito. Was that the cat she was referring to?
"Strays are resourceful," he said after a moment, tilting his head down to meet her eyes, "I'm sure the little guy is curled up somewhere nice and dry." It was hard for him not to project his own experiences. In many ways, Jason also felt like a stray. But he always found his own way, for better or for worse.
Sabine forced a small smile, thankful for the consoling words. "I certainly hope so."
The bus pulled up to the curb and its tires squealed as the large vehicle came to a languid stop. The bus doors hissed and then swung open, allowing several passengers to step out as Sabine and the others at the bus stop jostled around one another to get in line.
Sabine counted out the spare change in the palm of her hand. "Shit, I'm short."
"That's true," Jason nodded with a snort, using his hand to skim the top of her head and compare their heights. The crown of her head came up just below his collar bone.
"Oh, ha, ha," she retorted dryly. "Do you have ten cents or not?"
"Hmm, maybe," was Jason's noncommittal answer as he scratched his chin. He felt around in his jean pocket with his other hand until his fingers unearthed a dime.
He held the dime out between his thumb and index finger. She expected to feel another strange jolt of sensation as the pad of his thumb pressed the coin in her hand. When nothing happened, she concluded that maybe she had imagined the flash of red.
Her hands closed into a fist around the coins. Had that vision—and that bone-shattering feeling—all been in her head?
"You owe me another coffee," Jason called after her, his hand cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice, as she hopped onto the bus steps and dropped her change into the farebox.
Sabine lowered her hood now that there was no need to protect her hair from the rain. Twisting, she looked back at him, raising an eyebrow at his wet mop of hair, the stubble that shadowed his lower face, and his cocky grin. Being indebted to him wasn't such a bad thing, she decided.
"That's not even a fair exchange rate and you know it…," her words tapered off as the bus doors hissed shut behind her.
Jason stood alone under the bus shelter as rain pounded the lightweight metal, creating a tinkling cacophony that flooded his ears.
There was no way that he could just ask her about what happened to her mother. Their relationship wasn't close enough for him to pry about such sensitive things. It was definitely not a casual conversation to have over a cup of coffee (and it would be weird and awkward).
And, for some reason, he enjoyed the easy familiarity they had between them.
He headed back to the office building and took the staircase down to the sub level where his motorcycle was parked. He swung one leg over it, inserted the key, turned it, pressed the start button, and the engine turned over. Rumbling loudly, the bike came to life underneath his body.
Thankfully, Barbara had given him time to figure out his next steps in the investigation. He wondered bitterly what advice Bruce would give him (not that he would actually ask the old man).
He leaned forward on the bike, his hands gripping the handlebars, rode out of the parking lot and onto the drenched streets of Gotham. He could feel the fabric of his shirt cling to his skin as water soaked through it.
No matter how he looked at it, for now it seemed like Sabine was going to have to continue to deal with nightly visits from the Red Hood whether she wanted to or not.
A/N: I really liked writing Barbara! I hope to include her more in this story (as well as more Bitewing cameos).
Thank you for reading and thank you for all the reviews/comments, kudos, faves, alerts, subscriptions, and bookmarks so far! \o/