Red Hood and Sabine finally have a long talk.
(Also, just a lil reminder that this is a slow-ish burn romance, so yeah, things are gonna start getting *more* romance-y soon!)
Chapter 21 of What's Up, Danger?: Underneath It All
12:10 AM, Thursday
The low and persistent buzz of the nearby streetlights was the only sound Jason heard. Nothing moved in the dim shine of the lights through a thin layer of fog as he actively monitored the environment. Occasionally, the wails of fog horns coming from Gotham Harbor pierced the air.
He bent his neck to the side, cracking it and relieving some of its stiffness.
The grass and dirt around his grave were livelier than this night turned out to be.
Restless and bored out of his skull, he decided to pick a bone with the person on the other end of his comm line.
"Pride and Prejudice, really?" Jason accused, knowing she was listening. "I know it was you."
Through the static, Barbara's good-natured cackle leaked through. She was a menace.
"You have no proof. There are dozens of librarians in Gotham. Dozens!"
A third voice, crisp and a few octaves higher than Jason's, popped up on the line. "Who cares who's reading Pride and Prejudice?"
Damian. Jason rolled his eyes under his helmet. Fucking hell.
"Get off this line, squirt," Jason said with a tight jaw, aggravated with the teenager's obnoxious intrusion.
"I'd like to see you make me, T—"
Damian's voice was unceremoniously cut off before he could complete his lame threat.
"Whoops," Babs mumbled unapologetically, "thought for sure this line was private."
Jason huffed irritably under the helmet, followed by a chuckle. "He's gonna be mad about that."
"Locking him out of the Batmobile's control panels for a few weeks should be punishment enough for eavesdropping," Babs supplied. On her end, there was the sound of liquid pouring into a container, probably coffee.
"Diabolical," Jason said, admiringly. "That'll piss him off for sure."
He paused to stretch his cramped legs, lunging one forward on the roof's ledge and feeling the tightness alleviate in his hips and thighs.
Barbara ranted on, her annoyance on full blast: "I go through all this trouble setting up private lines for each of you guys because hey, boundaries and privacy are a thing—regardless of what B believes—and then Damian and Tim just ignore it most of the time—" She suddenly remembered there were more pressing matters as she quickly shifted the topic of conversation. "Any action?"
From his post, Jason swiveled his head around, scrutinizing every shadow and lamp post. Again, nothing of interest to note.
"Nope, it's dead here."
He heard her make a disgruntled noise before taking a long pull of coffee, swallowing loudly. She grumbled, "Must've gotten some bad info then."
"Maybe they switched the drop spots? An empty parking lot like this doesn't provide any cover."
Two hours in and all he'd seen was a large raccoon waddle by before disappearing behind a corner. Not exactly an ideal location for a weapons deal to go down due to the open space with so few obstructions and blind spots. Not all criminals were bright, though. That made his job easier some nights.
He guessed Barbara leaned back in her computer chair because he heard the squelch of leather.
"Could be," she agreed, frustration apparent in her tone. "Not much activity on the scanners either."
His eyes canvassed the open deserted space wedged between buildings in the business park one more time. Another fog horn blared, the swan song of chirping crickets layered under it.
"I'm gonna head out then," he said, peering over the edge of the brick building and eyeing the fire escape he used to climb up.
"Calling it a night? It's still early," she paused, perhaps checking the time. "Early for us, anyway."
"In a bit. Gotta check on something first."
He swung his leg over the ledge, finding purchase on the first rung of the metal ladder before he began his descent.
Babs hummed, knowingly. "Uh-huh."
"What does that mean?"
The last ladder wasn't fully extended so he released his grip on it, dropping down the last ten feet onto the ground below. A slab of black ice under his feet almost made him slip, boots squeaking on the surface.
She refused to clarify. "Nothing, nothing." Another loud sip of coffee.
He audibly hmphed. It sounded like the little demon wasn't the only one who needed to remember the importance of boundaries and privacy. Why was everyone so damn nosey? But, really, what did he expect from a group of detectives who made it their business to know everything.
Jason trudged over to his motorcycle, parked in the shadows of the building by a gnarled bush, the care and keeping of the landscaping in the area long forgotten.
He swung one leg over the seat after he pushed his bike into the open.
He said his brief goodbye to Babs before tapping off the communicator on the side of his helmet. He drove off into the night, barreling past azure and white streaks of city lights towards his destination.
12:40 AM
Red Hood dropped down onto Sabine's fire escape like an unwelcome phantom.
Crouching low in the shadows, he shamelessly studied her through the window—the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the intense concentration on her tired face as her eyes darted from her textbook to her laptop screen, and the way she closed her eyes and tipped her head back as she took a sip of tea.
A lit candle sat at the edge of her coffee table, precariously close to the edge.
He could tell she'd been studying for a while from the redness in her eyes. Deep purple bags from sleep deprivation paralleled her eyes, which were dry from reading for hours on end.
Sabine hadn't noticed him yet, too wrapped up in her study bubble and hunched over like a shrewd goblin.
She stretched her arms over her head—the very arms that she'd used to hug him less than two days ago—and yawned before scouring over her course materials again.
And here he was, about to ruin her night.
With a deep inhale, Red Hood took the syrupy feelings brewing inside that made his chest flutter, shoved them into a box, and slammed down the lid as best he could. Compartmentalizing, although, not the thing he was best at.
Jason could have a silly little crush on his coffee and brunch friend. Red Hood couldn't. Crushes had a nasty habit of getting in the way of work, and causing distractions and complications.
Bracing himself for her wrath, he exhaled and then cautiously tapped on the glass with his knuckles. It was time to try and make amends. Or, at least, get back on speaking terms.
From her cozy blanket nest on the couch, she cautiously dragged her eyes up from her laptop screen to the source of the invasive disruption. She scowled and pinched her brows together when her eyes spotted the red glean of his helmet and its luminous white-eye slits. Red Hood's large frame hunched over by her window was not a sight she wanted to see.
Weakly, he waved, helmet reflecting the warm light inside her studio like an ominous beacon.
Sabine turned up the music bubbling out of her bluetooth speaker on the side table, hoping the easy-going blend of jazz and hip hop sent the very clear message of: 'No, I don't want to talk to you.' Instead, it was a double-edged sword. Her neighbor banged on their shared wall in retaliation. Resigned, Sabine turned the music back down.
With a sharp intake of breath, she closed the laptop and bunched the orange knit blanket around her shoulders. The only way to describe her expression when she finally forced the window up and open was pissed. The glower she directed at him was razor-sharp, full of restrained anger. He'd never seen her this ticked off before, even when she'd thrown the ceramic cat food bowl at him.
A chill shot down his spine, spreading to all his extremities. Anxiety sprouted in his stomach.
Red Hood didn't know where to begin. He'd gone over his apology a million times in his head on the way over, but as soon as tried to open his big dumb mouth the words abandoned him.
Part of him wanted to be stubborn. What did he need to apologize for? It was her fault for trusting him; a lesson she needed to learn if she wanted to survive in Gotham. Take care of yourself first. Don't trust others to follow through. Tough life lessons like that.
The other part of him knew he was being a complete ass and he had no excuse for it nor should he attempt to rationalize it. She deserved better after putting her faith in him that night.
Sheepishly, he said, "Hey, just…checking in."
Caught between perplexed and peeved, her eyebrows shot up and she went straight for the verbal gut punch. "So you're not here to apologize?"
A drip of annoyance made its way into his mechanical voice, he knew he sounded like a dick before he could stop himself. "If I start handing out apologies now, everyone will want one."
Fuck. He didn't mean to say that, he didn't know why he did. Fuck.
"Wow," Sabine gritted out as she adjusted the blanket over her shoulders. When he didn't respond, she scoffed and turned her back to him. "Unbelievable."
Red Hood was used to the frustrated stares speared in his direction and being chewed out. He expected it because everyone expected the worst from him.
But the quiet disappointment stemming from Sabine? It made him feel shittier than usual. He might as well hand her a shovel to dig him a second grave because that was the trajectory of this conversation if he didn't pull himself together.
If any of the crooked denizens of Gotham's underworld saw the way she chided him his reputation would be in tatters. Unsalvageable and ruined. The big scary Red Hood letting a small slip of a woman treat him like he was some disobedient teenager or eager-to-please dog? Fucking scandalous.
His shoulders drooped. "Look, I'm not here to…damn. This all sounded better in my head."
If this was anyone else he would have told them 'too bad' and flipped them off.
"Fuck," he muttered, wishing he could take off his helmet and rub his forehead as he tried to navigate this conversation.
The thought struck him—why not take off his helmet?
Maybe if she knew who he was under the hood, she'd be more receptive and forgiving. He lived a dangerous life and her fate seemed tied to whatever malevolent entity was lurking in the dark corners of the city. Neither of them knew how much time they had left or what would happen next, so why not go all in? Let her see him as he was underneath it all.
Red Hood inhaled and his head tipped forward, thoughts circling back to why he came here in the first place. His skin under the tactical armor prickled with ripples of anticipation.
He could get the words out. It wasn't that hard, he was just getting worked up over a few short sentences. He could fight his way out of a room when out-numbered five-to-one, this should be easy in comparison.
"I'm…" he almost faltered, but then picked his head back up to meet her narrowed eyes, renewing his resolve to not continue to sabotage the unstable ground of their acquaintanceship. "I'm sorry I left you in New York. That was shitty of me. Shouldn't have done that."
Sabine puckered her lips and tight lines bracketed the edges of her mouth as she regarded him over her shoulder. He nearly took up the entire space of her open window, his large frame grimly blotting out the hazy starbursts of the streetlights behind him.
There was something darkly comical about Red Hood crouching outside her apartment and asking her for forgiveness.
But it was impossible to tell if his penance was sincere with the mask obscuring his entire face and through whatever technology hid his real voice. She noticed at times an inflection or two would seep through it when he was being particularly moody.
Red Hood watched intently as her face shifted between bitterness, bewilderment, and acceptance. She hadn't expected him to say he was sorry, did she? He was full of surprises. That's what kept others on their toes around him.
Eventually, after choosing to believe that maybe Red Hood did have a heart under all that tactical armor and snark, Sabine asked, "Was that really so hard to say?"
He groaned. "Agonizing. Painful. The worst. I'd rather get stabbed again," he replied, drawing out each syllable in jest while wringing his hands.
Her face froze at his dramatics. It was a given that his choice of profession was hazardous but stabbed again?—geez, how many times had that happened already?
Red Hood wasn't a mind reader but he could guess what crossed her mind.
"Occupational hazard," he said casually, "Last time I got stabbed was in the side. Saved a little girl who was kidnapped by traffickers, though. She named her puppy after me."
Sabine took a long pause, processing the anecdote. "That's actually…kind of sweet," she said, then hastily amended, "the little girl and puppy part, not the stabby part."
"Perks of the job," Red Hood replied, "some people appreciate being saved."
She rolled her eyes, and her lips modestly arched up into a smile. "So there's just some dog running around out there named Red Hood?" She tried not to laugh at the thought.
"They mostly call him Red. I've seen her and her family walking him a few times down their street in the evening. German Shepherd. Smart choice in this city."
Sabine scoffed airily and the smile on her face died. "So you stalk everyone in this city?"
"I follow up on things sometimes." He paused for a breath. "The kid's happy, safe, and back with her family. I did that. Getting knifed was worth it."
Her brown eyes fixated on him and in their depths he could see them warming back up to him.
"So," he drawled, dragging out the 's' as he patted the top of his thighs, and getting to the second reason for this nighttime housecall, "anything going on I should be aware of? Anything strange?"
Sabine made a face. Her nose and lips twitched, unprepared for such point-blank questions. She then shifted her hips to one side and frowned. Then there was a glimmer of something he couldn't name in her eyes. Maybe mischief?
"Come to think of it, yes," she stated, sounding a touch annoyed.
He leaned over the sill, one hand gripping the window frame. "Yeah?"
She nodded and let the blanket slip down one of her shoulders. "Uh-huh, there's this weirdo who keeps following me and peeping outside my window. He even took my food and kidnapped me once. Took me across state lines and left me there. Wears a brown leather jacket and a red helmet. Maybe you know him?"
Red Hood snorted and ran a gloved hand down the front of his helmet. He should've seen that one coming. He deserved it.
"I'm being serious, Donuts," he reprimanded after a short, bitter laugh.
"So am I," Sabine tossed back, hands now planted on her hips and the blanket tangled around her arms.
His head slanted to the side. "You saying I'm creepy?"
"What do you call what you're doing right now?" She asked, vaguely gesturing towards him with both hands and pouting. Because, yes, that's exactly what she'd call what he was doing. It was invasive to never know when she was being watched.
Red Hood shrugged loosely. "Stopping by to make sure you're still alive."
Was that care she detected in his tone? It was so hard to tell. Or maybe her ears were playing tricks on her.
"Oh," she blinked and a splotchy pink dusted her cheeks, "well, that's…that makes sense."
"You're welcome," Red Hood said with a roll of his shoulders. "So, how are things? Anything to report?"
Sabine tilted her head. "No? I don't think so. Everything's been normal. Well, "—she kept fiddling with the blanket strewn around her—, "as normal as things can be in Gotham, I guess. Why?"
"You're the magic one," he said, wiggling his fingers as if glowing sparks were coming out of them. "Things have been quiet since Leblanc. No new leads or anything."
Conflicted, she scrunched her eyebrows together. "Isn't that a good thing?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. Means we can't do anything until something happens or until there's another body—" he stopped when he saw her wince. Shit.
She chewed on her lip then said with naive optimism, "Well, maybe it…left?"
He didn't believe that. Madame Xanadu had told them herself that sometimes there was no rhyme or reason why these things did what they did, other times it was all careful calculation. A sickening intuition in his gut told him it was waiting, biding its time.
These things never just left.
Red Hood rubbed his chin. "Or maybe it wants us—or you—to let your guard down and get relaxed before stirring shit up again?"
"You think?" Sabine balked, her voice somewhere between skittish and disturbed.
"That's what I'd do," he admitted, darkly.
Sabine released a shuddering breath as a tremor of terror rocked her body, shaken by his statement. She hugged the blanket closer to her body like it was a protective shield.
His unsettling response hung in the air as a tense hush fell over them. While it was nice to have a bit less friction between them, there were still too many unanswered questions and loose ends.
Red Hood bounced his knee, poor joint aching. He motioned with his index finger between the two of them. "We good?"
It took her a moment to register that he'd spoken, the frightening implication of his previous statement clawing at the walls inside her mind. Sabine blew air out of her mouth and threaded a shaky hand through her short, unruly hair. She mulled over his question.
"I wouldn't say we're good, but we're not…bad either. Somewhere in the middle." She wrinkled her nose and twisted her mouth to the side. "Does that make sense?"
He sighed, the tension in his jaw released. He hadn't realized he'd been clenching it, hooked onto her voice like it was a fishing line. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."
Of course, a quick apology wasn't going to smooth everything over in an instant. It was progress, though. He'd take that over simmering animosity and holding grudges.
Sabine lingered by the open window, the cold breeze that swept in made her shiver. She pulled her arms in, folding them under the blanket and against her chest, rubbing her forearms to stay warm. Her bottom lip wobbled.
Sensing she had something else to add, Red Hood cocked his head. "What's up, Donuts?"
Apprehensively, she said, "Actually, something strange did happen, but I don't think it has to do with the murders."
Curiosity piqued but also dubious, Red Hood rested his chin on his fist, waiting. "You're not messing with me again, are you?"
Sabine shook her head and swallowed thickly, nervous and alert like a startled cat. She hadn't breathed a word about this to anyone but maybe Red Hood would know what to do. The secret was too much to keep locked inside herself. Or maybe disclosure would make more of a mess of things.
In a low voice, she said, "I told you that I have visions sometimes, right?"
Red Hood nodded slowly, recalling her previous confession in the hotel room. A night that seemed both very long ago and very recent.
"Well, I…" she hesitated and her face fell, fragile voice dissolving into a scared whisper, "I have this friend. And, uh, I'm pretty sure he died. Except he's not dead-dead. Somehow he's alive. But he did die, I looked up the records and everything."
It came out of her as a rushed jumbled mess. She didn't even know if she was making any sense. But in a world where so many inexplicable things existed, surely someone coming back to life wasn't unheard of or farfetched.
Red Hood tightened his knuckles, and the tips of his gloved fingers dug into his palms.
Calmly, he inquired, "And how do you know this?"
Hesitation and weariness showed in her slump. She said, shudderingly, "When my hands—when I touched him, I saw things. Things I shouldn't."
His stomach lurched as realization slammed into him of why she'd gawked at him in the dim staircase.
The reason why she was on edge around him and a bundle of messed up nerves—she did see a ghost. Him.
He slipped inside through the open window. His heavy boots landed thudded against the wooden floor. He drew himself up to his full height and loomed over her, menacing and scary.
With a strained voice, Red Hood asked, "And what did you see?"
Sabine paused, lips contorting into a sad pout. She took a few shaky steps back to give herself space as Red Hood terrifyingly crowded her. She'd almost forgotten how scary he could be, how imposing and threatening his presence was in person. Large and immovable like a tank. A fact that was easy for her to forget with his frequent visits and their series of misadventures.
The gray tombstone protruding from the earth flashed before her eyes, blurry and haunting like she was seeing it through a misty lens.
She refused to look at him and dread flickered across her face when she grimly answered, "His grave."
His grave.
The two words hit him like a shotgun blast to the chest. Air pushed out of his lungs like they were being crushed.
His entire body stiffened and his heart pounded up in his throat, pulsing like this was a nightmare with no escape. No thoughts, head empty, just panic pumping through his veins and the fear that he'd been found out, the fear that she knew.
Despite everything, he kept himself physically steady. Refusing to visibly react. He kept his chin tilted down, the bright white slits in his helmet burning into her.
Sabine fumbled on, unaware of how closely she skimmed along the surface of one of Gotham's—one of his—most insidious secrets. One of the few things he never wanted her, or anyone really, to know.
"I don't think he's a bad guy and he has a heartbeat and everything, but he…he died." She nervously played with her fingers, plucking at her cuticles until they were raw. She finally picked her gaze off the floor and returned it to the vigilante for affirmation. "That's weird, right?"
The neutral expression on his helmet stared blankly back at her. Completely unreadable, not giving an inch nor inkling of what trouble was brewing in his mind or the pain that marred his face.
"Yeah," he finally said in agreement, fighting against the way his throat constricted at her admission. "That's weird."
"I'm not sure what to do," she confessed, sitting on the arm of the couch across from him. "He's a good guy, but is there like, uhh, a zombie protocol for this kind of thing? Should I be worried?"
Internally stuck in a daze, he offered, "I can…look into it. What's the name?"
A moment of tension stretched out between them, sizzling in the air.
A morbid part of him needed to hear her say it, to say his name.
The edges of her eyes became watery, glistening. She dabbed at them somberly with the sleeves of her hoodie.
"Jason Todd," she breathed out as if saying it two more times would summon him like he was some type of frightening urban legend.
Those three cursed syllables were another nail in his coffin.
He had to fight against his voice cracking, not that she would hear it through the voice scrambler. "Have you told anyone else?"
She shook her head and sniffled quietly no.
He wanted to crack a dumb joke and put her at ease because she was getting choked up for him, one of the city's most infamous specters who walked amongst the living like he belonged, but he didn't know what he could do for her.
Instead, the tipping point came. The edge of the abyss where he could either continue to stare into the endless blackness or leap off, tell her and show her everything.
And why not? Everything about his life was high stakes. It would just be another gamble, another risk.
In that unsettling moment, he conjured up her reaction in his mind, knowing full well that it would be the end of everything with her—
His hands reached back around the base of his skull, the mechanism that secured his helmet unlocking with a click. Lifting his arms, he'd slide the helmet off.
Sabine would freeze, all of the muscles in her body refusing to move and her pupils blown wide at the sight of the apparition come to life in front of her.
The melody drifting in and out as the song changed, muffled by the shock of the profound revelation materializing in front of her.
Sabine's eyes would dart over every one of the recognizable features of his face. He'd shaved since she last saw him, his jawline and every recognizable scar now visible.
Even with the domino mask hiding his eyes from view, she'd know who the man standing in front of her unmistakably was.
He'd know what she was wondering—the similarities in gait and body language, the white lines of scarred skin on the side of his lip and cheek, the same wide shoulders and back. Why didn't she see it before?
Her expression morphed between horrified, intrigued, and betrayed, unable to settle on one.
His shroud of black hair would be matted and slick with sweat, pushed down flat by the helmet. The curls stuck to his damp forehead. He'd peel the domino mask off as well because he couldn't resist the theatrics of it all, unveiling his penetrating jewel-colored eyes—almost the same shade of luminescent green as the waters in the Pit which he crawled out of in a manic frenzy several years ago.
A wry and sad smile would spread across Jason's lips as he looked down at her, now holding his red helmet in the crook of his arm.
His voice boomed like thunder when he spoke, "Boo."
Red Hood took the troubling daydream and pocketed it in the back corner of his mind along with all his other reckless ideas. The impulse to confront her with his true self and drag her into his world faded, restraint winning out. That was one rabbit hole he wasn't ready to tumble down just yet.
He bit his tongue and the small burst of pain grounded him back to reality. Awareness of his surroundings fluttered back to him in pieces; the living room with the worn couch and coffee table chaotically covered in textbooks and stacks of paper and post-it notes, the soft music that filled the tiny space between the walls, and the graduate student with wet eyes in front of him. Adorable and oblivious to all the places his mind went.
He didn't want to leave things like this.
Red Hood moved towards the couch, tentatively encroaching into her personal space this time and giving her every opportunity to shoo him away.
Sabine's fingers were trembling.
He stooped low in front of her so she was above him this time. Carefully, he reached a hand out to her. His palm caught her fingers before clasping around them, wrapping her hand in warmth. Her hand stilled in his grasp.
He waited for her to rip her hand away or to tell him to stop. When she didn't, his thumb skated back-and-forth over the ridges of her knuckles in a soothing manner.
Sabine was too stunned to say anything or even flinch away. Words like gentle and kind weren't ever brought up when Gothamites discussed the Red Hood. It was hard not to imagine how brutally skilled and lethal his hands were, how much damage they were capable of and how much blood he had washed off of them, as he crouched in front of her like a docile guard dog and so, so uncharacteristically sweet.
The leather felt ticklish and grainy as he gingerly rubbed the back of her hand. Intrigued and oddly comforted by the sensation, she let him continue with the reassuring ministrations. Indulging in it, even.
So much for keeping a lid on the box. His feelings seeped through the cracks, oozing out of containment. He was glad he kept the helmet on, it covered the flush on his face.
Red Hood partially lied through his teeth when he said, "We'll figure this all out, okay? Your friend, this supernatural stuff…we'll figure it out."
He couldn't decide if he was doing the right thing until Sabine's so-very-tired eyes flicked down at him and she squeezed his hand back.
And that, for now, was more than enough.
2:15 AM
Jason sat on his couch in his boxers and black shirt with the The Re-Animator film title in bold and neon green font stretched across the chest—a gift from Roy. With one lamp on, the corner of his apartment was illuminated in a cone of incandescent light while the rest of the furniture remained nestled in shadows.
He took a swig from the bottle of whiskey in his hand before recapping it. He set it down on the coffee table and tilted his head back against the couch, sagging languidly into the cushions.
Several glugs of alcohol and he already felt boneless and hazy, weightless like a floating cloud. Jason didn't like self-medicating, but it helped him loosen up from time to time, enabling him to think about his thoughts and feelings without too much background noise.
The alcohol and tipsy-ness helped settle the chaos in his mind. The dust that cluttered his inner thoughts sifted away as he gradually accepted two very important things—
The first: he liked Sabine, and that was okay. She was understanding and a little lost and weary, like him. And she was cute, witchy vibes aside. She was small and shrimpy and always wearing sweaters, cardigans, or flannels a size or two too big, always looking cozy no matter what she wore.
The second: she knew, and she still didn't say anything to him about his true identity. Did that mean she trusted Red Hood more? Or was she so fucked up with guilt and the curse of knowing that she just wanted to unburden herself of it for a night?
His head spun. The world dizzily rotated as he lifted his legs and arranged himself so he was laying down with one arm behind his head and the other strewn across his stomach, half-lidded eyes pointing up at the ceiling.
So what was he going to do about it?
Buzzed, alone, and confined inside with his thoughts, he drifted off to sleep.
A/N: Thought about having the Red Hood reveal in this chapter but I'm gonna let the tension brew a bit longer :) I also feel like this chapter is a bit messy and all over the place? It's hard to self-edit sometimes, lol.
Thanks for reading! I've been down lately because of life stuff so it's nice to put time aside to do the things I enjoy (like writing!). Let me know how you're liking things!
Some spooky stuff is coming up! See ya'll next update :)