Jason and Damian have a moment (kind of), and Sabine's magic is inconvenient.
Some referenced past relationships/situationships/crushes with Jason in this one.
C/W: alcohol/drinking
Chapter 26 of What's Up, Danger?: All of These Birds in My Head
CEO excitedly brushed up on Sabine's legs as she unlocked the door and entered her studio apartment for the first time in several days with Jason only a few steps behind her. The air was polluted with staleness from the windows being closed for so long.
But it was home. Her home. Cluttered and a bit messy, and probably offensive to Jason's tidier sensibilities. Its current appearance very much resembled the frayed state of her mind from the last few weeks between cramming for finals and all of the…death.
"Oh, poor baby," Sabine cooed, stooping low to sweep the yowling cat up in her arms, "did you miss me? Did you miss mama?" She kissed the top of his little head repeatedly until he squirmed out of her arms.
Placed in very obvious sight on her small dining table was a brand new bag of cat food, some posh brand that she couldn't afford, as well as an array of new, colorful toys. A piece of notebook paper was affixed to the front of the bag with tape.
Sabine eyed the angry scrawl and stifled a giggle. "Okay, your friend is interesting. I'm glad he helped while I was gone, but look at this note—"
She pawed off the note into Jason's hands and he immediately recognized Damian's sharp handwriting:
Todd described your cat as "delightfully spherical" and "chonky". I, however, will not mince words. Your cat is overweight, much to the detriment of his health. I have taken the liberty to relieve your apartment of most cat treats. I've purchased food with ample nutritional content, and toys to help stimulate play and exercise.
And underneath the paragraph was a mathematical equation that sussed out the ideal serving amount of food per meal for CEO's body weight to encourage healthy weight loss.
Jason held back a bark of laughter. He could picture the furious indignity in which Damian labored over this note.
"He means well," he said, setting the piece of paper down on the table and placing the duffle bag full of her things next to it.
"Sure, sure."
She inspected the food bag and the new toys as Jason's eyes darted around the apartment, looking vaguely annoyed and calculating. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists, leather motorcycle gloves squelching with each movement.
Sabine easily picked up on what was running through Jason's mind as he began to pace the length of her living room. "I'm not letting you booby trap my apartment."
"I'd certainly feel a lot better if you let me," Jason grumbled defensively as he examined the two windows. Both street facing, and 3'x3' by his rough estimate. Too exposed. Some cameras and sensors would certainly put him at ease. There were too many easy entry points and clear sight lines. The type of life he led hardwired him to be paranoid.
But what good would any trap or preventative measures be against magic?
Jason's expression was riddled with anxiety as he looked down at her. His hands twitched before he gave into the impulse, engulfing her in a hug and squishing her against his chest. "You'll check in, right?"
Her arms wrapped around his middle and his embrace tightened. It was only a hug—such a simple act—but it panged so deeply in both of their chests as their hearts pressed together. It was a hug that conveyed much more than the usual stay safe and I'll miss you. Things neither wanted to say out loud. It would only hurt more.
"Yeah," she said with a somber chuckle, being the first to pull away. "Besides, it's not like I'm gonna be alone for long. Going out with the gang for drinks Saturday night, then my dad's picking me up Monday morning. Gonna spend a week or two with family and then I'll be back."
His intense eyes hovered on her for an uncomfortable amount of time. She caught the grimace that twisted his strong features.
"Do not booby trap my apartment while I'm gone," she reiterated, eyes squinting fishily at him.
Jason scratched at his stubble and resisted a dramatic eye roll. "I won't."
Their eyes met and they shared a curt nod of understanding. She didn't quite take him for his word. Jason was…Jason and he worried to the point of obsession. The protectiveness was sweet, but, as much as she hated to admit it, her life had to go on despite everything.
His goodbye was a brief, "Stay out of trouble." Behind his eyes, muddled feelings lay buried.
Sabine watched his back as he left. Her front door slotted into the frame as he closed it behind him and she moved forward to deadbolt it.
She turned and leaned back against the door. Breathing shallowly, she absorbed the fact that she was alone now. The world, life, and everything around her were already moving on from Carla's death, and the others. She couldn't stay in that quiet and soft and safe bubble of Jason's company forever where it felt like nothing bad could touch her there.
Inhaling, she held her breath for several seconds. She counted down from five, and then released the air in her lungs. She repeated the meditation several times.
Back at the table with the stuffed green duffle bag, she started to unpack.
As soon as Jason stepped foot inside his apartment with his motorcycle helmet under the crook of his arm, his senses inflamed at the presence of an intruder in his space. Forgoing his usual greetings of the objects in his apartment, his glare sharpened and pointed like a dagger at the trespasser.
Sitting on the couch, arms folded, spine rigid and straight, and with one leg crossed over the other, was none other than the little demon spawn—well, it wasn't apt to call him 'little' anymore when he had shot up like a damn weed and surpassed Tim in height months ago—Damian.
Jason groaned and ran a hand over his face. "Stop following me, weirdo."
"So," Damian began, not even attempting to mask the smugness in his tone, "that's the friend that you've been keeping a secret?"
Jason rolled his eyes and unzipped his jacket. "You want a prize for finding out? Not that it took much detective work with you feeding her cat and all."
Damian clicked his tongue, ignoring the slight against his sleuthing skills. "Gordon knows?"
"Obviously," Jason hung up his jacket on a hook and rolled his shoulders back, "can't hide anything from her. And you'll keep your trap shut too. I'm keeping the circle small on this one so don't you dare blab."
Damian furrowed his eyebrows. "You're saying that you'll trust me?" He tilted his head, considering the small revelation. "Interesting."
It would be easy to run to the others with the news. Usually, he would've enjoyed gaining the rare upper hand on Todd, but even he detected the seriousness in his voice. He wasn't foolish enough to risk Todd's wrath. Besides, it was enticing to be one of the few in the inner circle of Bats to have forbidden knowledge that the others didn't.
"Don't get used to it," Jason scoffed, ruffling a hand through his helmet hair. He dropped onto the couch next to Damian, legs sprawled out. "You did me a favor by helping out my friend for a few days, so thanks. But did you have to leave a note?"
Damian's keen eyes widened a fraction. Words of gratitude from Todd? And a fragment of trust? Maybe the end of days was closer than he thought.
"Your friend's cat needs to lose weight," Damian spat, choosing not to mull over Todd's trust for too long and rising to his feet to inspect the bookshelf. Hands behind his back as his eyes raked over the hundreds of book spines, he asked, "Any recommendations?"
Jason snorted, patience wearing thin. "Two, actually. The first, The Count of Monte Christo by Dumas. Second shelf, after Dickens. The second—get out."
9:30 PM, Saturday
The Tipsy Bat, a vigilante themed dive-bar in the Coventry district, bustled with activity. The bar was dimly-lit and pulsing with energy, popular with the college-aged crowd. Bass rumbled the furnishings and rattled the walls. The wall of liquor bottles behind the bar was backlit with purple, yellow, blue, and black. Above the tall shelf was a chalkboard with a list of themed cocktails. People buzzed with chatter over the loud music, and some alternative rock songs from the 90s blasted on the speakers.
Theo, ever the chronic early bird to every occasion, scoped out a tall pub table and pulled up extra stools. Paloma was already halfway deep into a copper mug of Moscow Mule, and Theo nursed a fishbowl filled with a nuclear blue slush, a Mr. Freeze, when Sabine arrived.
Avery flagged Sabine down from the bar. "Over here! I'll get your first drink."
Sabine slipped her jacket off her shoulders before elbowing her way in-between Avery and a loud man trying to catch one of the bartender's attention.
A pretty bartender, wearing a short black cape and a matching headband with pointy bat ears, tucked a dark strand of hair behind her ear lined with studs before turning her attention to Avery.
"How can I help you, hon?"
"Manhattan up, for me thanks and—" Avery said, nudging Sabine.
"—a Hurricane."
The bartender nodded. "Sure thing."
Glasses and bottles clinked together as the bartender worked and rummaged around.
Ice, rye, vermouth, and bitters mixed. Strained into a coupe glass and garnished with a Maraschino cherry.
Then light and dark rum, orange and passionfruit, grenadine, and fruit purée poured into a shaker with ice.
She expertly rocked the shaker between her hands before straining the concoction over a glass full of fresh ice chips, filling it to the top. Flourishing it off with an orange wedge and another cherry, she slid both drinks across the counter and took Avery's debit card for payment.
"Opening a tab?"
"Hell yes," Avery said joyfully, alcohol already at her red lips.
They joined Paloma and Theo at the high table, planting their elbows and forearms on the circular wooden surface. All four lightly knocked their glasses together before taking large swigs.
Paloma arched her brows and her eyes danced around the group before stalling on Sabine. "Sooo, you gonna spill or what?"
Everyone's eyes were on her, and Sabine shrunk inward a bit.
She waved a hand as she twirled the straw in her cocktail, playing dumb. The ice sloshed around. "What are you talking about?"
Not that dumb!
"We're just worried," Avery started, casting a scolding gaze at Paloma, "you've been on edge lately and this guy shows up with you to every final—"
"He's not a stalker, is he?" Paloma blurted out.
Theo and Avery leaned in.
Sabine sputtered and floundered under their concern, nearly choking on her drink. "Oh, no, no! He's a good—great—guy. Friend! He's a great friend." How could she spin this lie into something believable? "Someone, uh, broke into my apartment a few days ago and he was letting me stay at his place until my landlord fixed the window."
Her white lie garnered overlapping words and stories of sympathy.
Avery planted her chin on her fist, fingers on the stem of her drinking glass. "Oh, man, I'm so sorry." She sighed wistfully. "That's Gotham for you. I'm glad you're okay…you are okay, right? It's good you have a friend like that you can stay with."
"Shit, that's rough," Paloma agreed, "happened to my sister a few weeks ago. She stayed with us for almost a month because she couldn't stand being home alone…"
Theo shook his head. "My old man's store was broken into. Windows and shutters smashed, all the valuable merchandise taken. People really suck sometimes."
"Your next drink is on me," Paloma offered, finishing off her mixed drink.
After her second drink, a Boy Wonder, a liquid sunset of yellow, red, and green, and a round of heavily poured Batman Bomb shots, Sabine's head swam. Theo jumped to his feet as soon as she knocked back the concoction in the pint glass, already eager to get another round.
Avery stirred her pale green Poison Ivy cocktail topped with sprigs of basil and mint. "You doin' okay?"
Sabine wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and set the glass down with a clank. Her whole mouth tasted like sweetened fire. "Yeah, yeah, just been a while since I drank."
"Maybe you should sit the next round out? I'll tell Theo to get you water instead."
"Thanks, that'll help."
"Be back in a minute." Avery fluttered away to the bar, the skirt of her black dress whooshing with the movement.
Paloma had already flitted away moments ago, imbued with enough liquid courage to talk and giggle with a stranger she'd spotted across the room who had metallic silver eyeliner and lavender hair.
Left alone, Sabine's stomach and head pitched a fuss. The world was tilting at an angle, or maybe it was her head that was sloping to the side. She wasn't sure.
She hadn't drunk more than a hard seltzer or a cheap tall can from the corner store in months on the rare occasion she wanted to unwind. A part of Sabine wanted to drink just to remember what being normal felt like, and have a few hours of carefree fun like in her undergrad days. Instead, it just made her sick.
Two cocktails and one shot…when did I become such a lightweight?
She'd overestimated her ability to hold down her liquor. Holding in a bubbly burp that's acidity tickled her esophagus, she grabbed her purse and made a staggered beeline for the restroom, brushing past several congregations of sweaty bodies on the way.
The bar's restroom was papered with fake wanted posters and heroic newspaper clippings. Over the decor, patrons had taken it upon themselves to add their own small decorative touches—often in thick sharpie—of phone numbers, initials with hearts, and 'deep' inspirational quotes.
Above the sink basin that Sabine held onto like it was her only remaining anchor to gravity, someone had scribbled: ACAB includes Batman.
Sabine would've chuckled if she didn't teeter on the edge of…something. She sucked in a deep breath, composing herself and resolving to drink water for the rest of the night.
You're just a little drunk. Stick to water and you'll be fine. Don't try to keep up with the others.
The sides of her temple pounded. She wished there was a way that all the spinning and the noise could just stop for a moment.
Turning away from the sink, the graffiti and poster-covered walls of the bathroom disappeared. The blaring rock music vanished.
An odd warmth coursed through her veins and the light around her refracted, splitting into a kaleidoscope of color.
Everything shifted back into focus and Sabine found herself staring at one recognizable black-haired lump on a couch next to an unfamiliar redhead, video game controllers clutched in their hands, in an apartment she had spent several days in.
The two men's eyes bugged out upon her sudden appearance.
Sabine stumbled, catching herself on the edge of a table. She hiccuped pathetically. She braced her other hand against her chest as liquor threatened to shoot up her throat. "What the fuck—Jason?"
Jason snapped out of his slack-jawed expression first. Not only transfixed by the prism of swirling golden light that heralded her arrival, but also appreciatively bewitched by the fitted black and blue butterfly-sleeved jumper she wore over black tights and wedged heels.
"Uh, hi," his voice tapered off, openly staring as the adrenaline of shock slowly faded from his system.
She made a face, confused by what the hell was going on, before pitching forward with a hand over her mouth as the contents of her stomach rushed up her throat.
The redhead yelped and scrambled up the couch like the floor was moments away from turning into hot lava, "Oh, shit, she's gonna spew—"
"Not helpful," Jason hissed. In a dash, he rushed towards Sabine and hastily directed her over to the bathroom. Toilet lid up and his hand on her back, she bent over and puked into the porcelain bowl.
She tasted the remnants of sour bile and regurgitated alcohol on her tongue. It was disgusting.
Sabine sank to her knees, face down and arms folded over the bowl. "Thanks…" she slurred. "Ugh, I have to get back to the Tipsy Bat, my friends—"
Jason snorted derisively. "That shit hole? Really?"
In a drunken haze, Sabine lifted her head, "You're just mad that they don't have any Red Hood stuff there…" The muscles between her neck and abdomen violently contracted, and she lurched forward into the toilet bowl again, vomiting her guts out. "Ugh…"
Jason perched on the edge of the bathtub and waited until she finished heaving. He grabbed a hand towel and tipped her head back, wiping the flecks off her scowling mouth. There'd been nights he'd been on the receiving end of such care where Roy tended to his drunken ass. And other nights where the roles were reversed.
"Feeling better?" Jason inquired after several minutes ticked by without anymore hurled chunks.
Sabine slumped, back against the tub. Toilet seat and lid back down, she reached for the lever and flushed it. "Getting there…"
Jason gave her a knowing look, head shaking. "You're gonna pass out, aren't you?"
"Mmmaybe."
Her body drifted to the side, going boneless, and he caught her.
Jason picked up her deadweight easily enough and carried her into his bedroom, ignoring Roy's head turn of confusion. He used his hip to close the door behind him so Roy couldn't say shit about what was going on. Hell, even Jason didn't understand how the fuck Sabine got here.
He set her down on her bed and she immediately stretched her limbs out, her small frame somehow took up most of the mattress.
The room spun like a carousel. Hand on her throbbing head, Sabine asked, "Is that Roy? He's not a gargoyle?"
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jason fiddled with the thin buckles and straps on her shoes. "Nope. Roy's human."
"Booo."
"You know, when I asked you to check in," he said, pulling the heels off her feet, "this isn't exactly what I meant."
Nuzzling against the pillow, Sabine murmured an apology, "I know…m'sorry…it's just so cozy here…"
Jason set her shoes on the floor by the bed along with her purse. He left briefly and returned with a glass of water and a pill bottle.
"Ibuprofen," he instructed simply, "take two and drink. Small sips."
Sabine pushed herself up on her elbows as Jason dropped two orange-brown pills into her palm. She chased them down with several glugs of water. She fell back onto the pillows that smelled freshly laundered and nothing like Jason. She missed his smell, leather and motor oil.
She rolled onto her side and whined, "I left my jacket at the bar." Spiced rum and cola laced her breath. Her black eyeliner and mascara were smudged around her eyes.
With a huff, Jason tugged the cover up and over her shoulder. "Well, I'm sure your friends will look out for your stuff for the night. Worry about it later."
"They better," Sabine threatened weakly, fuzzy stupor taking control as she melted into the sheets, "or I'll turn them all…into lizards…" her eyelids drooped, hazy.
Jason laughed, cracking a half-smile. "Plotting your lizard empire? You can barely stand."
She was still alert enough to notice the purple and red splotches blossoming across his knuckles and weakly pointed at them. "Jay…what happened there?"
Jason flexed his hand experimentally before shoving it into his hoodie pocket, out of sight. His red hoodie also hid the bandages wrapped around his arm and the new bruises littering his torso.
He flicked that annoying lock of blue hair next to her ear. The turquoise now faded into a muted blue-green over the bleach. "Nothing for you to worry about. Go to sleep and stop causing trouble."
Sabine made a noise of protest before closing her eyes. It felt so good to lie down and be near Jason.
Jason shut the door as quietly as he could when he slipped out of the bedroom.
What a fuckin' mess.
It was damn frustrating how easily she completely and utterly disarmed him.
What was he supposed to do? Kick her out and send her back to the bar? She was plastered, and she still somehow managed to teleport herself into his apartment, uninvited.
Roy, eyes still blown wide by Sabine's sudden materialization, loudly greeted him, "Woah, wait, that's Floaty, right—"
Jason sighed, collapsing onto the couch. He begrudgingly jostled Roy's shoulder. "Don't call her that, man."
Roy's measured expression faltered, suspicious. "And you're letting her crash here." He sounded affronted as if it was a special privilege that only he should enjoy.
"Yup," Jason folded his arms across his chest and rested his head back against the cushions. He exhaled loudly, bothered by the situation.
Roy wasn't buying the short answers.
"Oh, come on, Jaybird," Roy pressed, "you went radio silent for days. You weren't even answering texts. Something happened. Tell me what's up."
Jason shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant. "It's…complicated."
"Go on," Roy urged with a singsong lilt, bumping his knee against his.
Jason put his hands behind his head and sank further down the couch. "The 'we admitted we liked each other, but the timing wasn't right', kind of complicated'," he said. He refused to clarify further.
"Oh." Roy drummed his fingers on his thigh, not sure what to say in response because woah, that escalated quickly somehow without him knowing. He clapped his friend's shoulder. "That's rough, buddy."
Jason rolled his eyes and shrugged off Roy's hand. "Thanks."
Roy thumbed at his chin contemplatively, and his eyes occasionally flicked over to Jason from the tv with some judgment in them.
"What is it?" Jason ground out, rapidly approaching the level of bullshit he could handle in one night.
"Just…thought you had a thing for redheads, is all," he retorted, cheekily.
Jason side-eyed him and audibly scoffed. "You wish."
That's what this was about? Digging up his past history and emotional baggage? It's not like he was married to a type.
"Oh, I don't wish," Roy said as he arranged himself over the cushions in a mockingly seductive manner and winked, "I know."
Jason didn't bother wasting the effort to muster a response to that. He simply glowered at Roy from between the fingers he'd pressed to his face in aggravation.
They were not getting into this now. The past was the past. Jason hooked up sometimes, tried to get serious once or twice, thinking maybe it could be more…and it always petered out like rain slowly extinguishing a bonfire, leaving behind charred bits of his heart.
"Five bucks she's in there doing that floaty thing," Roy quipped, picking the game controller back up.
Jason's face puckered and his hand fell down to the armrest. She'd spent several days with him without incident. Maybe the floating was a one-off? Hell, he was kind of curious too now…
He didn't verbally affirm whether or not he accepted the bet, but he got back on his feet again and checked on her in the bedroom. Wrenching the door ajar an inch or two to peer inside, Jason's shoulders sagged and Roy cackled, knowing he won.
Wordlessly, Jason rummaged through his wallet and tossed a crumpled fiver at Roy, who let out a muted whoop of victory. Roy made a show of smoothing out the bill and flashing it at Jason.
Dropping back down the couch next to a gleeful Roy, Jason growled a warning, "Not another fuckin' word."
Sabine stirred from slumber feeling weirdly okay. Better, even? The side of her skull still ached, but it was mild. Survivable.
She wasn't sure what time it was when she sat up. Dazed and hair in a mess and fluffed up in every which way. She straightened her jumper, the fabric had twisted around her torso in her sleep.
There was still water in the glass by the nightstand. Parched, she took several thirsty sips.
She hobbled over to the bathroom and scrubbed the makeup off her face as best as she could with only water.
Dread consumed her.
She knew the fixtures in the bathroom, not a smudge or a stain anywhere, the red weighted blanket on the bed…
Fuck—this was Jason's place. How'd she end up here? She'd gone out for drinks with the others, tossed back a few, and then…
Her fingers tensed into claws as she stared, horrified, at her grubby reflection in the mirror.
She had fucking teleported.
Oh god.
Sink streaming with lukewarm water, she continued to wipe at her face until it was cool and damp and clean. Only some dark smudging of mascara underneath her bottom lids remained.
Back in the bedroom, she used two fingers to part the blinds and peeked through them. The sun was up, but it didn't look like midday yet, though the city was bustling with life.
Maybe she could sneak out before Jason noticed. A silly idea, considering he was a vigilante and all, but she decided to try anyway to save herself some embarrassment from the walk of shame.
Smoothing down her short hair from the fluffy mess it was, she shoved her feet back into her heels and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. Slinking out of the bedroom, she spied a lone sleeping mass on the couch. The mop of red hair gave away that it wasn't Jason. Roy?
A gravelly voice came from behind her: "Sneaking out?"
Caught, Sabine froze mid-step before pivoting on her heel to accept her head-on. It was a doomed plan to begin with, she knew that. Points for trying though?
Jason was hunched over at the table, the one where they'd shared meals, tinkering with his gear. There was a long gash along the sleeve of his trademark leather jacket that he was in the middle of mending, needle and thread in between his calloused fingers. The sweatshirt from last night was discarded, and the bruising on his right arm and shoulder was on full display under the short sleeve of his shirt. A white bandage wrapped around his bicep seeped red, hiding a deep laceration with stitches. He was one of the strongest people she knew, but he was still only human. Still only flesh.
"Jason," she said gently, forehead creased, "your arm…"
He hated how concern bled into her voice. His chest curled hotly, he wasn't some fragile doll that needed pity.
He shifted in the chair after knotting off the thread. "Work injury," he said lightly. "Roy made me take last night off."
"Well, thank god for Roy then," she mumbled. She knew being a vigilante in Gotham was no easy task—it was a deadly undertaking—but to see the blood, his blood…
Tear stitched up to his liking, Jason took the thread between his teeth and pulled, severing it with a sharp nip. Needle and jacket on the table, he stood up tall, angling his injured arm and fist away from her. Not that his position hid the other smattering of scars on his opposite arm. Each discolored patch on his skin had a story of its own, she was sure, but she didn't pry.
"How's the head?" Jason asked, switching gears. His voice was layered with concern, but…there was something else there underneath the noise. She couldn't quite frisk it out.
Sabine replied slowly, rubbing the pulsing spot on her temple in small circles, "It's…better."
She wanted to ask about his arm, and about what the hell happened to him. It had only been—what?—two days since she'd last seen him. Saying he looked rough would've been a massive understatement. He still hadn't shaved that overgrown scruff off his face and that white sprout of hair at his widow's peak had a life of its own, growing out wildly. Perhaps he didn't feel the need to hide it anymore now that she knew its origin.
Jason pretended to be overly interested in his red helmet, running his hand over the small chips and scratches on its sleek surface as it sat on the table. "That's good."
Vibrant green eyes narrowed, Jason avoided her gaze.
Sabine couldn't help but feel like she did something wrong. The terrible inkling poked and prodded her insides.
"Look, I didn't mean to last night—it just happened," she spilled. "You know I can't control it."
"Well, maybe you should try controlling it." The words came out harsher than he intended.
Her face shut down and her posture slumped, overwhelmed by the thorniness in his tone.
Jason didn't know what possessed him to keep plowing forward in a stern tone, "I know you have your issues and trauma with magic, but I can't have you just suddenly appearing—"
Putting a hand up to interrupt him, she seethed, "You're going to lecture me on controlling myself when you stalked me for months?"
Jason went quiet and the uneasy silence that fell over them was punctuated by Roy's loud snores. Sabine didn't know what to do when he didn't snap back at her. It wasn't uncharted territory for him to revert to stony silence, but this time it was heated and strained. Both of them were visibly agitated.
Were they…were they arguing?
Fuck, her head kind of hurt now. She wanted to stomp over to the door and leave, slam it shut in his face, and stop being just another headache for him to put up with. But she hesitated. It wasn't right to leave things like this.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to the punch.
Jason released a gusty and repentant exhale. "I'm sorry," he rubbed the back of his neck, the movement of his wounded arm made him wince, "it's just…hard for me to not have control in some situations. And with all of these unknown variables with what's going on…"
Sabine's teeth sank into her bottom lip. "I get it. I'm sorry, too. I know you were just trying to look out for me in your own…strange way. And I really didn't mean to just…appear."
He nodded and a light chuckle reverberated from his chest. His intense eyes regarded her fondly. "C'mon, I'll take you home."
"Oh, no, it's okay," Sabine said, hoping to further defuse the awkwardness, "I can take the bus."
"Oh?" he cocked his head. "You have change?"
Sabine zipped open her purse and searched her wallet. Only bank cards and the other miscellaneous cards that had accumulated in its thin slots: rewards cards, school ID, the odd folded receipt. Not even a loose dime or quarter. "…shit. I can…walk?"
His brows somehow shot up his forehead and squished together. "Walk? Like that?"
She squinted down at her attire and jammed her hands into her jumper pockets. Oh yeah, she quickly realized, it's fucking winter, you dolt. She'd make it maybe one or two blocks before her teeth started chattering from the cold.
He tossed his red hoodie at her. "Put that on and let's go."
Pulling the hoodie over her head was like being engulfed in a giant warm blanket. It was comically large on her, reaching well past her torso and hands.
Sabine yanked up the collar and sniffed inside the neckline, not understanding what possessed her to do so. Jason shot her an odd look as he fetched his bike keys.
"Oh, it's just—it smells like you," she stammered.
Flustered, her face turned a shade of red that almost matched the fabric of the hoodie. Maybe she was still buzzed from last night?
Yeah, that has to be it. People don't just smell clothes.
"Riiight," he said with a smirk, shrugging on his jacket. The keys in his hand jingled. "C'mon, let's get you home."
The motorcycle ride back to her place was somehow the worst she'd ever experienced. Yup, she was definitely still a little tipsy, and when he stopped in front of her building she could not dismount fast enough. She never wanted to do another Batman Bomb shot again.
"Awful," she muttered, stomach twisting, "truly awful…"
"Take it easier with the liquor next time," Jason joked, watching her wobble a bit on the sidewalk before she found her balance.
Sabine pulled her arms through the hoodie sleeves, in the middle of removing it before Jason stopped her.
"Keep it for now," he insisted. "I'll get it back from you next time."
Sabine's heart somersaulted in her chest. There would be a next time after how tense things were that morning? Her spirits lifted.
"But it's yours—"
"And you like stealing my clothes for some reason," Jason countered, the corners of his lips heart-meltingly crooked upwards.
She corrected him, "You let me borrow it…this time."
Jason didn't linger long enough for goodbyes and took off down the street when she climbed the landing stairs to the building's entrance.
Up the four flights of stairs to her apartment, she searched for her cell phone in her purse. Dozens of red missed calls and text notifications from her classmates crowded the screen. Her guts churned with guilt, she hadn't meant to literally disappear on them last night.
She texted back that, yes, she was very much alive, and that she took a taxi home. Hopefully, the explanation would suffice. Avery worried too much.
Inside her studio, Sabine fed CEO some of the new fancy cat food, following the specific instructions that Jason's friend provided. Then she went to work, making her breakfast, a buttered-up English muffin and coffee.
A short nap, two more ibuprofen pills for her head, and another mug of steaming coffee later, Sabine plopped down on her couch. Cell phone in hand, she typed in the search browser:
buses to New York
grey hound bus to NY
grey hound bus ticket round trip gotham to greenwich, ny
The sting of Jason's words wouldn't leave her mind, they'd burrowed in that deeply and haunted her. She couldn't easily brush them off.
"…maybe you should try controlling it."
He hadn't meant to be an ass when he said it, but…he had a point. She didn't want to make her lack of control his problem. His frustration earlier that morning was understandable.
Sabine only had a limited window of time for an impromptu field trip before tomorrow afternoon, so she punched in her debit card number to purchase bus tickets then showered, tossing last night's clothes into the hamper, along with Jason's hoodie.
Changing into weather-appropriate clothes and making sure her phone and wallet were securely tucked away in her deep jacket pockets, she left dinner out for CEO, who, hardly able to restrain himself, started chomping away as soon as his bowl was on the floor.
"Be back by tomorrow morning," she promised soothingly. She crouched next to her cat and stroked his furry backside as he purred and ate, "…hopefully."
It was evening when Sabine stepped off the bus and found herself on the curb of a familiar intersection of streets. Streetlights cycled from green to yellow to red, car horns blasted, people yelled over the endless cacophony of city noises, and the sidewalk by the bus terminal was overcrowded.
It felt weird not to tell Jason she returned to New York. Partially because he was the one who sparked this idea in her mind that morning. Partially because she was alone in a city that was loud and vibrant, different from dark and gloomy Gotham.
Sabine worried her teeth over her bottom lip as she hugged her peacoat around herself for warmth, pushing through the mob.
She retraced her steps from the hotel to her destination. It was a long way and she got a little lost. Lost long enough that she picked up a container of takeout from a little hole-in-the-wall Mediterranean place to tie over her hunger; the second meal of the day other than her meager breakfast and it was after 8 PM.
She really didn't think this through. Like, at all.
Eating her gyro and rice with a fork, she marched on.
New York was a concrete maze, but, eventually, she encountered some streets she vaguely recognized. It wasn't soon after that the glowing neon eye was within her view. Magenta and blue glass tubing flickered, blinking and watching her cautious approach.
At the storefront, the door swung open on its own and a curtain of beads inside jingled, inviting Sabine into the shadowy and mystic depths.
Just like last time.
But it wasn't exactly like last time. The shop felt different now. At first, she couldn't describe it. Like…a static tingle of potential? An aura that wasn't warm or cold, but one that infused and mingled with her nerve endings.
A sublime energy radiated off the walls, from the various sigils and objects affixed to them. Some of the trinkets inside might have been merely that—useless and powerless knick-knacks to sell to curious tourists—but Sabine felt the energy emanating from inside.
Madame Xanadu's jewel-like green eyes landed on Sabine as soon as she passed through the entrance. The door shut behind her, fitting back into the wooden frame with a soft thud.
In the middle of lighting incense, Madame Xanadu held the match to the end until it caught. The ember burned bright orange and wispy ribbons of fragrant smoke floated up to the ceiling.
"Ah, Miss Song," she welcomed, her dark lips spreading into a coy smile. She extinguished the match with a puff of air, "I know you'd come back."
A/N: Love making Sabine and Jason communicate, lol
I'm a Jay/Artemis shipper at heart (I really dig their dynamic in the first 25 issues of Outlaws), but I like to think when Jason was younger he had a one-sided crush on Babs (we're ignoring anything that actually happened between them in the comics), and maybe, just maybe, once upon a time, Jason and Roy had a brief thing (in the continuity of this fic)? ;)
Thank you for all the very kind comments on the last chapter (I know the pacing is…slow, but ayyy that's slow burn, baby!), and thanks so much for reading! I appreciate all of you! :)