#Gordon: Do not make me call CPS

[violent138]

(Sets canon sort of to the side) Gordon was probably so pissed when Batman suddenly showed up to crime scenes with a brightly coloured kid in tow, and it likely led to several arguments (considering that Batman routinely walks into gunfire, drives like a maniac, and hunts down the worst the city has to offer) that they stopped working together until some major disaster and Gordon just had to accept the kid was there to stay.

[nuvolisa]

Land where I land

It’s unusual for Jim to call him at the Police Station for anything. Even during the worst of cases, the officer has always tried to not get him involved or to come to him once everything was settled.

So, when he calls late at night, Bruce knows that something isn’t right. No villain attacks, no escapee from Arkham, no robberies, and no bomb threats: does Jason need to get bailed out of jail again?

Jim Gordon’s voice is somewhat sarcastic as he speaks over his desk’s phone. “You’ll find out when you see it.”

Bruce is not looking forward to it.

It’s late, too late for any sane and law-abiding citizen to be out at such an hour. What could’ve possibly happened to cause such a mess that he needed to get involved? Couldn’t Jim just have used the Batsignal if things were that bad?

Instead, when he enters the building, the old commissioner is snickering. Bruce is definitely not good with emotions, but he thinks he’s making fun of him. He doesn’t find it funny.

“What's going on?”

Bruce Wayne is confused, confused as to why the officer is so cheerful, confused about why he would call him here in the first place. Did he find his job that amusing?

“We’ve found this girl… well, let’s just say that she basically landed right on the back of an officer, and seemed to be confused, likely she’s an immigrant.”

Bruce was stunned.

“You called me here… for a kid who’s lost?”

James Gordon places a hand on top of his shoulder. “Do you know any French?”

This was going to be a long night.

There is a woman in the interrogation room, talking to what looks like a girl not older than fifteen, at least from her height. From behind the glass, he can’t see very well.

“Sophie, come out for now,” says Jim on the interphone, and the CPS worker obliges, waving tenderly at the girl she’s been interrogating.

Sophie Dallway comes to the other side of the interrogation room and fixes her skirt. Bruce notices that she must’ve dressed up in a hurry, but he understands: it’s quite late in the night.

“Did she tell us something?” asks Jim with a small amused smile under his mustache. Bruce’s on the verge of exploding.

“Not much, to be honest. She keeps telling the same story, she has no idea how she got here and what happened. She insists on letting her go, that she’ll find a way.”

“We can’t do that,”

“I told her that, she just started shaking.”

Jim looks down. “Good,” he says, sarcastically. Then he turns around to face Bruce, “Your turn now.”

“What?”

“Go in there and talk to her, Wayne.”

“But why?”

Jim shoves him out of the room with a half-hearted pat on the back. “You’ll guess soon enough.”

The interrogation room is surprisingly dark. The small yellow lamp hasn’t been changed since probably the 1960s and the empty metal chair doesn’t help to give a welcoming environment to a child. He can barely make out her silhouette, but he trusts Jim, he has to.

He opens up the folder on the metal, icy-cold table, and starts reading. “So, your name is…”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she completes the sentence for him, hesitantly.

Bruce is already lost, he doesn’t know what to say anymore. “You’re from Paris, is that correct?”

"Yes," she replies softly, "but I don't know how I ended up here in... Gotham, is it?" Her voice is tinged with confusion and a hint of fear, well hidden behind her thick, native French accent. He doesn’t fail to notice the urgency in her hand movements.

He scans the document one more time. Everything she has said to the CPS worker seems rather unfamiliar, he can’t for the life of him understand why he’s been involved in this case. He closes the folder and looks up sternly.

At that moment, it finally clicks. The teen is here, sitting in front of him, and she has two dark black pigtails that look almost blue under the light. Her eyes are two perfect sapphires with the tint of a calm sea. Her lips are in the shape of his mother’s, small and heart-shaped, and don’t hide the small pointy canines that Damian has. Despite the dark and gloomy atmosphere, the girl brightens the room, even with the terror easily readable in her pupils.

Bruce feels like fainting.

Marinette is rambling about needing to go back to Paris, but her words don’t fully reach his ears, it’s all rumbling background noise. The only thing he can hear is his racing heart, threatening to dig a hole and come out of his chest.

“Who are your parents?” he asks, with a stoic face, interrupting her quite abruptly. Bruce immediately notices his faux pas: he can’t let this overwhelm him, he can’t afford to be emotional anymore.

“Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng,” she answers, her eyes low on the ground. “They’re bakers…” she whispers. Bruce manages to catch it. The names are unknown to him.

“Do you have a number we can call?” he asks, but she shakes her head.

“No, I have their numbers saved on my phone, which is… back in Paris.”

This feels like a joke. He wants to turn around and ask Jim if it was Clark’s idea, but he realizes that whatever this ordeal is about, this poor girl, who looks so much like a carbon copy of himself, is disoriented and scared.

Bruce has a sympathetic look in his eyes. “Do you remember what happened right before you got here?”

Her voice is soft, it reminds him of someone.“I was in my room, getting up for school when I just… there was a blue light and I was here.”

He notices immediately that she is lying: her eyes look at her right, and she instinctively starts touching her face, her earrings, her neck. But why would she? Wouldn’t it be better for her to give the entire truth so that they can just send her home?

“That’s… peculiar,” he comments, trying to indicate that he doesn’t believe her. Not that he doesn’t believe she has just popped out of nowhere, which would be nothing compared to the sheer amount of strange things that happen in Gotham, but that she’s not telling the whole truth.

Her smile contorts into an embarrassed expression. “I know but… I can’t tell you much more.”

“Why?”

Marinette awkwardly fixes her posture. He can’t believe that such a petite girl, who wears pink ribbons and a pastel t-shirt for school, looks actually so much like him. “We… can’t really talk about what’s happening in Paris. Mayor’s decree. Technically, it’s the former mayor’s decree, but it’s still valid.”

That’s concerning, to say the least. He turns around to gesture to Jim that this is something they have to discuss. But what could possibly be happening in Paris that needs to be hidden from the rest of the world?

“I understand your fear, Marinette. But why is there an information block in there in the first place?”

The girl freezes. “I can… I can’t tell you,” she murmurs. His heart contorts at seeing the expression on her face, the same of a small puppy who has been abandoned. The irony of it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You can. You’re not in Paris right now, so any decree doesn’t affect you. I’ll make sure to protect you, don’t worry,” he says, trying his best to reassure her. Bruce is very good at faking confidence and charisma; but at real compassion and genuine affection? He’s hopeless.

Marinette still looks like she is being tortured, like she has seen a ghost. Yet, she starts explaining what exactly happened in the last two years. He understands her hesitance: magical jewelry, possessed people, domestic terrorism. This city is in dire need of help, and he knows what he will be talking about at the next Justice League meeting.

As he hears the girl explain and analyze the villain in detail, every doubt clears from his mind. That is certainly his daughter. If her overall look wasn’t enough, the way she describes accurately every move and every action taken by the villains to terrorize her city would convince anyone that this is his long-lost kid. From the way Hawkmoth lured in citizens using complex schemes, to the way Mariposa’s attacks are far more well-organized and diligently planned.

His mind starts wandering as the girl keeps on telling Paris’s story. Her skin is pale and reveals on her arms burn marks, old cuts, and bruises. She’s incredibly small and thin despite being the daughter of a baker, and it makes a lot of questions pop up in his head. She doesn’t have the body of a hero, but she sure has the mind of one.

The papers that the CPS worker gave him tell him that she’s fifteen. He tries to think who the mother of this girl could be. It was too early for both Talia and Selina, and the timeline doesn’t match with Vicky Vale either. He looks at her once more, and it hits him like a brick.

It couldn’t be. But also, it is the only possibility. He doesn’t want to believe his own mind, but logically he already knows who it is. Zatanna Zatara. It is impossible to ignore now: she looks exactly like her. A drop of sweat runs down his spine. Why didn’t she ever tell him?

Come to think of it, he hasn’t heard from the woman for fifteen years. His head hurt. Does that mean that Marinette has… No, it’s best to think about this later.

“Sir, are you okay?” she asks, seeing that he doesn’t seem responsive to her story. The sweet tone of her voice makes him feel another gut of pain in his chest.

He shakes his head. At that moment he realizes he hasn’t even told her his name. He wants nothing more than to dig a hole, crawl in it and die. He thankfully can’t hear Jim Gordon laughing his ass off in the other room, or else he would try to jump out of a window, no gear on.

“Yes, sorry. Call me Bruce, by the way. There’s no need for such formalities, I’m here to help.” He offers her a smile that looks so forced it could make her vomit.

She doesn’t look any better. “Can you help me go home, Bruce?” she pleads, eyes filled with tears and determination. Her voice, however, betrays her.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replies. He needs to get out of here and fast. Bruce doesn’t know whether to strangle Jim Gordon or kiss him.

The contents of his stomach threaten to come out, and he quickly comes out of the room, trying to keep up his usual stoic demeanor. As he reaches Jim’s office, his eyes look bloodshot, and he has to consciously stop himself from trembling.

The old man is smiling smugly from his desk, and as he looks up from the paperwork he’s throwing around, he says: “So?”

Bruce tries his best to not scream, not yell at him ‘What the actual fuck, Jim?’, not throw the entire paper bin on the ground. His voice isn’t as cold as usual.

“Can we get a DNA test done?”

Jim’s laugh echoes in his ears, and it feels like mockery. Bruce desperately wishes he slept that night.

Sophie Dallway downs her coffee and makes her way to the room, a tad bit more awake than she was before. She looks at the necessary paperwork, and this looks like a complicated case, judging by how much she has to sign.

But as she pushes open the door, she’s met with silence. No one is there, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is gone. Bruce has already lost any trace of his daughter, mere minutes after meeting her.

Whole series here!

[animutate]

anyway i hate school

[this turned into a vent in the tags sorry]

[defensefilms]

The Milwaukee Bucks Are 2021 NBA Champions

After 6 games and some absolutely heart-stopping defensive plays, The Milwaukee Bucks are officially the 2021 NBA champions, defeating the Phoenix Suns 

In a game that started nervously for both teams, with the Suns struggling to score in the 1st quarter and then the Bucks struggling in the 2nd quarter. The Suns even came back from an 18 point deficit and kept the lead for most of the 2nd quarter.

In a completely fitting ending and career defining performance, Giannis Attentekounmpo had his playoff high in career points. A staggering 50 points, 14 rebounds, 2 assists and 5 blocks in game of stops that eventually came down to who had the best player.

The third quarter was a close run affair though the Suns lead by 7 points at the start of the 2nd half that lead would utterly dis-integrate after an emphatic Brook Lopez dunk. 

The Suns would manage just 6-25 from 3-point range and the Bucks weren’t much better on that front either, a paltry 6-27 didn’t matter for the eventual champions.

The score was tied at 77-77 at the start of the 4th quarter. 

The Bucks edged in to a slight lead after a Jrue Holiday pull-up 3 and Bobby Portis turning down a 3 and getting to the basket on the next possession.

And while we’re at it, let’s take a moment to give a standing ovation to Bobby Portis. +16 in +/- for the game, he was 6-10 from the field, shot the ball with cold blooded confidence, mostly off of one the dribble, had 16 points, 3 rebounds and a block and made some absolutely critical shots. He proved to be an x-factor in a game that turned in to two teams that wanted to get to the basket and every look was contested.

That moment where he prevented Chris Paul getting to the ref after the ball went out of bounds on a Bucks fast break lay-up. Absolute. Just exemplified the edge that he brings, understanding how much of the Suns game was gonna be based on pressuring the refs. 

Giannis’ free throws gave the Bucks a slight lead and Bucks led 94-88 with just over 6 minutes to play and you know what time it is when it’s close in the 4th for Milwaukee and once again, Khris Middleton made huge shots, absolutely clutch once again. 

First he made a shot off the dribble over Devin Booker with just over 4 minutes remaining to make the score 96-90 . Then with the game winding down to the final minute, Khris again comes round an off ball screen, gets the ball from Giannis and makes a Kobe-esque midrange pull-up, to ice the game. 

With that the moment had arrived and the Milwaukee Bucks could once again call themselves NBA champions for the first time since 1971. 

So why did the Suns lose this series?

A week and a half ago, the media were predicting that the Suns would sweep the Bucks. So how did we get to this point.

1) Lack of Size and front court depth

Earlies this season, the Denver Nuggets signed, Aaron Gordon and although what resulted for them was 

Deandre Ayton was the biggest casualty of this lack of front court support. The idea that we saw Frank Kaminsky for the first time in game 6 of the series is not a good look at all. When Dario Saric went down, Monty Williams should have leaned on the veteran big a little bit more than he did.

The Suns basically had their normal line-up which is a small ball line-up and then they had a smaller lineup than even that. 

2) 3-point shooting negated and no big contributions from role players

When you look at the individual contributions of each player on either team, it’s clear why the Suns lost. Mikal Bridges and Jae Crowder looked like they would be among the reasons the  Suns would go on to win this series.

Instead they were largely neutralized. Smooth ball movement and the open looks that it generates were harder and harder to come by an they did not impact the shooting throughout the rest of the series. Bridges had 27 points in game 2 but was nowhere near that output as the Bucks defense wore the Suns shooters down. Crowder scored in double digits  for a large part of the series and he averaged 41% from 3-point distance. His 2-9 in game 6 hurt the Suns more than any of his his individual games.

As a team the Suns were held to 38.4% from 3 for the series.

3) Chris Paul 

There will be much made about CP3′s series but where we should start in analyzing his problems is with Jrue Holiday. 

Once Jrue Holiday was assigned to pressure CP3 full court, it definitely altered what CP wanted to do. 

Chris Paul’s turnover at the end of game 4, was a gut-wrenching moment and it permeated the rest of the series. You wondered if CP3 had another 30 point game in him like he did in game 1.

 The issue is it was followed by average performances in game 4 and 5. Then in game 6 CP manages 26 points and just 5 assists but he had 3 turnovers. He lead his team in scoring in the close out game but does that negate what you saw over the course of a series where he got worse and by the time he found his aggression in game 6.

Devin Booker is not blame-free either. He definitely didn’t help in game 6 when he shoots 8-22 from the field. His 19 points is a big dip from the back to back 40 point games he had in games 4 and 5. 

Ultimately the media will point the finger at the guy they saw or appointed as the leader and that’s Chris Paul. CP didn’t bother shaking hands with his finals opponents before vacating the court, the kind of bad sportsmanship that people tend to excuse from Chris Paul.

For the Finals MVP, and the only player that should have ever even been considered for Finals MVP, Giannis Antetokounmpo now joins the rarified air of Hakeem Olajuwon, in being a player of African descent to win an NBA championship.

He is also among the few to win MVP, DPOY and Finals MVP. I believe Hakeem Olajuwon and Michael Jordan are the other two. 

For me personally, it’s rewarding to see this guy in this position, he joins Hakeem, Serge Ibaka, Pascal Siakam, Festuz Ezeli and Nazi Muhammad as African players who also became NBA champions. This is a global event here people, couldn’t be any more proud of Giannis, he was one the big reason I started this blog.

Next year it’s Joel Embiid.

[kraviolis]

does it feel like a triumph? - Half-Life

Rating: Teen Relationships: Gordon Freeman/Barney Calhoun Words: 1.7k Additional Tags: Evil Barney, Stream of Consciousness, Post-Episode 2, Guilt, Confessions, Betrayal Content Warnings: Mild Suicidal Ideation, Moderate Self Hate Summary:

Damn it all.

Leave it to Gordon to do the exact opposite of what Barney wants.

AO3 LINK ___________

Every time he looks at Gordon, Barney feels his guts twist painfully. 

Barney’s not even sure Gordon’s doing it on purpose, honestly. He’s just got this look in his eyes. It’s not anger, no, because for some reason no matter what he does Gordon just can’t be mad. It’s not fear, either, because why would The One Free Man be afraid?

It’s love. He can see it plain as day. And the longer he stares, the harder Barney’s heart clenches.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” He mutters, grimacing. Gordon’s expression sinks but it’s still there. That adoration. How can he still look at him like that, right now? He doesn’t get it.

It’s not like he can change what he’s done, what he’s going to do. He made a deal with the devil, shook his hand while looking right into his pale blue eyes and said he’d do what was needed. He can’t imagine how Alyx must feel, or Kleiner. They’d be angry, hurt, hissing out insults and trying to escape.

But they aren’t here. Gordon is.

And Gordon won’t look away from him, won’t spare him the gaze of those big, green eyes.

His hands are free from chains (except for a pair of strong handcuffs) but his legs aren’t. Barney wanted him to be able to talk but not get away, just so he could see every jab Gordon would send at him and really feel that guilt.

(Maybe then, he’d find the strength to give this up. Right this wrong.)

(And he knows it’s wrong, he knows he’s on the wrong side here, but… this is the only way he can keep them safe. Keep them all safe.)

But instead, Gordon just stares. Stares and stares and stares and he won’t fucking stop and Barney--

“I said stop !” He snaps, baring his teeth down at him. “For pete’s sake, Gordon, would’ya just quit it? ”

Gordon blinks, but looks down. Barney huffs, tightening his grip on his gun.

He watches Gordon clench and unclench his hands, the material of the HEV suit creaking as he does.

“No matter what ya say, I’m not…” He pauses, wets his lips. “I can’t go back. Not anymore. So just… don’t.” Please, God, try to snap me out of this, Gordon.

Gordon stops, lets his arms hang heavy. There’s a lull where nothing happens, just the two of them sitting there listening to the heavy whirr of the HEV suit vents.

Barney wonders what’s going on in Gordon’s head, what complex physics calculations he’s doing to determine how he’s gonna get out. Maybe he’s deciding if he wants to kill him or not. Maybe he’s given up.

He doesn’t want him to. Barney desperately wants Gordon to keep going, keep winning. Even if it means… even if it means he dies.

(Even if it means Gordon is the one to kill him.)

Gordon’s hands move up and Barney prepares himself to fall into his words, fully believing every single thing Gordon says while still putting on a show for the cameras. He can’t find his own willpower to do it without Gordon’s help. That’s all he needs.

(That’s all he’s ever needed.)

“I’m sorry,” Gordon signs, movements slow and jerky. He looks up again, meeting Barney’s eyes. “I love you.”

Barney inhales sharply. A flood of emotion washes over him and he does a little gasp-laugh, surprised and trying not to burst into tears. Goddamnit. Damn it all. Leave it to Gordon to do the exact opposite of what he wants.

He expected Gordon to call him every horrible word under the sun and demand for him to give up and he would’ve done it. He swears he would have.

But now Barney swears under his breath, clenching his jaw and muttering curses at himself and God and that son of a bitch in the suit.

Twenty years. Twenty fuckin’ years he cried himself to sleep while drunk off his ass, dreaming of seeing those words again. Those three tiny, giant words.

It’s not the beautiful hallmark movie moment he wanted. He doesn’t feel ecstatic to see those words. He’s not about to stand on his tiptoes and kiss Gordon in the middle of a summer rainstorm. He doesn’t feel sparks flying, doesn’t have hearts in his eyes.

It's a pain he feels. God, it hurts so fucking bad. His chest is about to rip itself open and he still, still can’t find it in himself to undo this huge goddamn mistake. Gordon just said he loved him and he’s still fucking standing here, pointing a gun at him.

Gordon reaches a hand out, not quite managing to bridge the gap between them. Even as distracted as he is, Gordon isn’t even trying to escape. He’s trying to comfort him. Him, his captor, his enemy, the one who betrayed him and who has betrayed everything he’s ever stood for.

Barney looks to him, anger and guilt and pain mixing into a cruel concoction in his head.

“I’m sorry.” Gordon repeats, and Barney isn’t going to be able to take much more of that look in his eyes. “Can I hold your hand?”

Oh Lord, there’s nothing Barney wouldn’t do for this man, if only he just asked.

Barney doesn’t answer. He just reaches a hand out and Gordon takes it gently in his own, so gently.

He wishes they weren’t separated by two layers of thick gloving, wishes he could feel Gordon’s skin against his. Would it be warm? Or are his hands still chronically cold?

He remembers Gordon would surprise Barney by pressing his fingers against his neck just to make him yelp. He remembers learning how to knit just to make Gordon a pair of thick, fingerless gloves for the winter. The kind he could talk more easily in.

He remembers the first night he wore them out, how happy he was to have warm hands while still being able to talk to Barney. It was snowing while they walked and talked, and they’d stopped under an awning for a bit only for Gordon to notice the mistletoe above them.

Barney remembers all of this as Gordon presses a kiss to his knuckles before pressing his cheek to his palm. All the air leaves him at once and he can’t breathe, eyes going wide.

They stay like that for a moment. Everything else disappears. Barney keeps his eyes focused on Gordon, on the way his eyes flutter shut as he just holds his hand there. When was the last time he was touched like this? Barney doesn’t know. He just knows that he can’t help but smooth his thumb against his cheekbone.

It makes Gordon sigh and turn his face more into his palm, pressing his lips there. There’s a moment where Barney considers falling to his knees and replacing his palm with his mouth. Where he considers undoing the restraints and handing Gordon his crowbar, then kneeling before him with his neck bared and waiting for his judgement.

He doesn’t do either of these. He just holds his breath.

Gordon looks tired, Barney notices. Deep, dark bags under his eyes and hastily-healed scars covering his face. Wounds that have been knitted together too fast, making the skin around it tight and firm. He runs his thumb over one on Gordon’s lip. Even through the glove he can feel the change between scar tissue and skin.

Being the Atlas of humanity must weigh on him something fierce, he thinks. If Barney goes through with this, Gordon wouldn’t have to worry about that. Maybe he could just rest. He looks like he hasn’t properly slept in days.

How long has it been? How long has it been since the resonance cascade, for Gordon? He looks the same. He acts the same. Barney’s 20 years feels like nothing in the face of what Gordon’s gone through.

Gordon opens his eyes again, looking up at him through his eyelashes. Beautiful and just so damn green. Barney could get lost, if he wanted. If he looked for just a little too long.

But he has the look in them, again. Soft and welcoming, almost silently pleading with him for… for something.

Barney notices, like a lightning strike, that it’s not love there. Not like he thought. Not quite. Not entirely .

It’s forgiveness .

The realization makes Barney pull his hand away like he’s been burned, stumbling backwards. He balls his fist up, his entire arm shaking. He swallows thickly, his entire chest burning.

Gordon forgives him.

Barney hasn’t even done anything to show remorse or guilt.

Gordon forgives him.

Barney’s barely even been kind to him.

Gordon forgives him .

How is it enough ? How is he enough?

It’s tearing through him like a jagged edge. Barney can barely breathe as he stares at Gordon. He wants to scream. He wants to tear his hair out.

(He wants to drag Gordon up by the collar and ask why? Why do you keep looking at me like that? Don’t you see me? Don’t you see what I’ve done? Please, God, stop looking at me like that and just kill me already.)

He’s blind. He can’t see Barney’s faults, his flaws, his mistakes-- not even when they’re glaring right at him.

Barney’s not a good person, he can’t be, not anymore. Not after this. But Gordon keeps looking at him like he’s the messiah of humanity, instead. Like he’s his entire world.

(He can’t stand it. He can’t. It’s like he’s being torn to pieces.)

So Barney does what he’s always done best. He blinks, steels his expression, and carefully tucks his emotions away.

“Backup is on the way.” He says coldly, looking down his nose at Gordon. “Don’t try anything and… and you’ll be unharmed. Got it?”

He turns and opens the door to the room they’re in. He signals for one of the other CPs standing outside to come in.

Gordon doesn’t respond. He just stares. Barney can’t meet his eyes.

He sighs harshly and takes a moment to collect himself before leaving Gordon behind. He doesn’t look back.

(Not even when he hears the muffled sounds of fighting coming from the room.)

[afni-fics]

In Hindsight: Chapter 7: In the Present... Lie in Ruins

In Hindsight: Chapter 7: In the Present... Lie in Ruins by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: Jack Drake had lied to Tim about his grandmother's death. However, Jack is also dead himself. Tim attempts to cope with the aftermath of learning the truth of what his father had done. Fortunately, he is not alone.

...

"Jack lied."

Lucius's words were stuck in Bruce's head as Alfred drove him into Gotham City from the Manor. They kept repeating themselves over and over and over again. After about ten minutes of focused brooding, Bruce finally voiced the question he knew he couldn't run away from.

"How did I miss this?"

From the driver's seat, Alfred glanced at Bruce via the rear-view mirror. "You had no way of knowing."

"I should have known."

"How?" Alfred's brow furrowed. "Tim didn't even know? His fa--" The old man choked on the word with a grimace, as if he'd bitten into a piece of bitter melon. He huffed irritably before continuing. "--Jack lied to him for years, and gave none of us any reason to suspect anything coming out of his mouth was false."

Bruce shook his head as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts before selecting one. After three rings, the line finally connected.

"You do know it's not even noon, right?" Barbara Gordon grumbled. "What could you possibly want at this ungodly time of the morning?"

"It's about Tim."

There was moment of pause. When Barbara spoke, drowsiness had been replaced with concern in her tone. "What's wrong? Is he alright? Is he having a delayed reaction to the new Fear Toxin?"

Bruce hesitated before answering, making a quick mental note to double check Tim's bloodwork as soon as he could. If Tim was suffering a delayed Fear Toxin reaction on top of everything else, that could further complicate his son's compromised emotional state. 

"It's not about the Fear Toxin, though that could be exacerbating the situation in the background," Bruce said finally. "I need you to do some digging into Tim's family history."

"You're asking me to investigate Tim? Why? What's going on?"

"Tim was never an orphan."

"WHAT?!" 

"We just discovered today he has a living maternal grandmother," Bruce explained. "But for whatever reason Jack Drake lied to Tim and his mother eight years ago and told them both she was dead. From what I've been told, his grandmother was supposed to have had full custody of him back then. Then she got hospitalized. When she was finally well enough to be released, Jack had managed to sever all ties between her and Tim."

"Jesus Christ," Barbara breathed out softly. "Does Tim kno-- Never mind, of course he knows otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to do the investigating. Is he with you now?"

"I'm going to his place in the city with Alfred to check on him. Tracker says he's stationary at the Nest."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Do a deep dive into the history between Tim's parents and his grandmother. Her name is Susan Klein. We need to learn what exactly triggered the original custody arrangement, as well as how Jack managed to take custody away from Susan and hide the fact that she was alive from both Tim and his mother. I also want to know why the hell the courts and CPS didn't get involved back then to return Tim to his grandmother, especially after Jack died."

"You also want to find the rest of Jack's skeletons," Barbara inferred. "Because if Jack lied about something this big to his own son--"

"--What else did he lie about?--"

"--And how much damage could this do to Tim if it's brought to light?" Bruce could hear Barbara indulge in a weary sigh. "Holy shit... Ok... Ok... Ok... Give me an hour to get a shower, coffee, and food. Then I'll start digging. This is all cold case kinda stuff, so it's not going anywhere. Keep me posted if you pick up any new leads from Tim."

"Thanks Barbara."

"Oh, by the way... Who else knows about this?"

"Alfred, Lucius, and Tam."

"Alright. I'll keep this on the down low from the rest of the fam until you can check on Tim. Take care of him, Bruce."

"I will."

With the call ended, Bruce leaned back and closed his eyes. What was he going to find when they finally got the Nest?  He didn't have to wait long. About ten minutes later, Bruce and Alfred found themselves being led through Tim's home by a deeply concerned Tamara Fox.

 ...

Three months and twenty-eight days.

That's how long it took for Tim to travel around the US and the world, investigate multiple archaeological sites, survive the Council of Spiders, cripple the League of Assassins, save the girl, and return home with proof of his adopted father being alive. So much mileage, blood, and lives lost had gone into the journey to recover Bruce Wayne from the time stream Darkseid had sent him into.

Nineteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds.

That's all the time it took for Tim to find evidence his grandmother was alive and well and still living in the same house she always had for the past fifty years. He didn't have to leave Gotham. He didn't even have to leave his workstation. All the information was at his fingertips online. All the evidence pointed at the conclusion that his grandmother (and the truth) had always been just a few keystrokes away.

But that couldn't be right. If that was right, that meant his father lied to him and his mother. Jack Drake wouldn't have done that. So it had to be wrong. Tim just couldn't figure out how the evidence was wrong.

"Recognized: Tamara Fox. Alpha-Zero-Two. Entrance: Garage."

"Recognized: Verified Guest. Alpha-Zero-Two-Dash-Zero-One. Entrance: Garage."

"Recognized: Verified Guest. Alpha-Zero-Two-Dash-Zero-Two. Entrance: Garage."

The voice of Tim's AI security matrix echoed through the cavernous space of Tim's brand new "Nest", the hidden vigilante base of operations tucked behind his renovated theater home. The young man barely acknowledged the announcements, though, as he sat motionless at his workstation with his elbows propped up on the desk and his face buried in his hands. Slowly, his hands shifted, sliding down his face over closed eyes to linger over his nose and mouth. Tim drew in a breath through his nose and tried to release it slowly through his mouth. Despite his attempt at control, his breath shuddered audibly as he exhaled. Desperately, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter and shifted his hands to press against them. The adjustment exposed his mouth pressed into a grim, trembling line as he struggled to keep any sound from escaping.

Despite his best efforts, a thin trickle of moisture escaped his hands and coursed down his cheek. 

Tim heard the hidden door that connected the Nest to his living room slide open, and blindly identified the footsteps of three people walking into his inner sanctum. One of them he was certain was Tam, and he had his suspicions about the other two.

However, in order to confirm them, he would have had to remove his hands and open his eyes...

...and he was not ready to do that just yet.

 ...

The moment Bruce laid eyes on Tim, he felt his heart ache at the sight before him. There was his son, sitting alone at his workstation, and everything in his body language was silently crying out with shock and dismay. 

For a brief few seconds, Bruce froze. His mind was a panicked jumble. What could he do?! What could he say?! How was he going to fix this?! 

Then Tim slowly lifted his head from his hands, and he when he looked over at Bruce, the older man's breath got stuck in his throat. His normally confident and unwavering teenager looked so dazed and hurt and utterly lost. 

"B?"

A single letter, barely whispered, partly a question, but mostly a plea, was all it took. Bruce's feet were no longer rooted to the floor, and he quickly closed the distance between himself and his son, because his boy had called out to him.

Tim rose to his feet as he saw Bruce approach, and he let himself be wrapped up in his adopted father's arms. Bruce could feel Tim lean into him, could feel the anxious tension in every muscle in his son's back as the boy buried his face into his chest. 

"I'm here, Tim," Bruce murmured as soothingly as he could as he stroked Tim's hair. "It's going to be ok."

"I... I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Tim whispered mournfully.

"Wrong?"

"Dad said she died. He wouldn't have lied about that. He couldn't have." Unconsciously, Tim's hand fisted into Bruce's shirt, as if he were hanging on for dear life. "But Lucius says she's alive... Been alive this entire time. And the evidence..." 

As more words spilled out from his boy's mouth, Bruce heart broke at the brittle desperation in Tim's voice.

"I have to be missing something. I'm doing something wrong. I'm making a mistake somewhere and I don't know what it is." Tim drew in a shuddering breath. "Or maybe it's the Fear Toxin. An after effect? Maybe it's making me hallucinate? Mis-hear... Misinterpret things?" He turned his head from Bruce's chest and gazed uneasily at the workstation monitors. "Maybe I'm just seeing things? Maybe I'm just losing my mind?"

The fact that Tim's voice took on a hopeful edge at the thought of going crazy sent a stab of deep concern through Bruce. A quick glance at the workstation monitors showed him all the evidence Tim had dug up on his own since leaving Wayne Tower. A lump rose to his throat. When he spoke, he could barely force his own voice above a hoarse whisper. 

"You're not hallucinating, Tim. I... I can see the evidence myself."

Tim's eyes widened at the screens, then he shut them tightly before shaking his head. "No... No no no no no..."

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce glanced over to Tamara, who looked close to tears herself, but was managing to just barely hold herself together. She had one arm wrapped around herself and the other held her cell phone. He could see Lucius's name on the screen as the current active call. 

"Yes?"

Tam swallowed hard before answering. "My dad's on the line. I told him we found Tim. He... He's with Nana... Tim's grandma... right now."

Bruce felt Tim freeze in his arms. He felt his own heart stutter as well. 

"She... would like to speak with Tim, if he's able. She understands though if he's too overwhelmed right now."

Tim turned his gaze to Tam's phone, his red-rimmed blue eyes wide and warring between longing and dread.

Bruce stroked Tim's back. "You... don't have to if you don't want to," he murmured. "We can wait until you feel better... Until we figure things out on this side."

For several seconds, there was nothing but tense silence in the air. Bruce could practically see the gears turning and grinding in Tim's mind. He could see the war play out on his son's face as he struggled to make a decision. Then, finally, Tim uneasily reached out and offered an open hand to Tam.

Tam nodded and raised the phone to her own ear first. "I'm handing my phone to Tim now." Then, she carefully gave Tim the cell, watching as he wrapped his fingers about the edges of the device and raised it to his own ear. 

"H-Hello?"

Though he was still holding Tim closely, Bruce wasn't close enough to hear much of other end of the call. He could tell it was a woman's voice, but couldn't make out most of the words. But he could see his son. He watched, helpless, as after a moment Tim's eyes filled immediately with tears and spilled over onto his cheeks. One short anguished sob escaped him before he used his other hand to clamp his mouth shut. Though it stifled the sounds, Bruce could still see and feel the sobs wracking his boy's entire frame. 

As Bruce held him tighter, he could hear the tone of the woman's voice shift to something so soothing and maternal that his own heart ached along with his son's. It had the desired effect of calming Tim enough so that the could finally find his voice once more. 

"I love you, too, Nana," he whimpered softly. Then, he stretched out his hand and gave the phone back to Tam, who was in tears herself as she took it back. 

Once his hands were free and the phone was pressed again to Tam's ear as she spoke with her father, Tim crumpled to the floor as he burst into tears once more, this time without restraint. Bruce followed him down to control his fall and let his son cried brokenheartedly against him.

"He lied," Tim keened between sobs. "He lied... He lied... He lied..."

Tears coursed down Bruce's face as he watched his son come apart at the seams. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Alfred gazing at him with love, sorrow, and tear-filled eyes as well. Though long dead, Jack Drake had broken their beloved boy's heart, and they would be damned if they didn't do their best to put the pieces back together again and make things right for everyone involved.

...

Author's Notes:

Author's Note: This was a challenging chapter to write. I hope I did Tim's breakdown justice. Things will, hopefully, start looking up for him from this point onward for a bit.

As for the length of time I put down as Tim's search for Bruce during the origin Red Robin run, this was just a wild guess on my part. In the comics, there was a map on a page in the first issue showing a map with pins on where he had previously investigated. Based on that, I estimated he had been travelling nonstop for at least several months before being intercepted by Ra's and getting dragged into the League and Council drama along with Tam.

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne

[mercurygray]

Director's Commentary for Day of Days, Ch 26 which you did so beautifully! Hope its not too long, I wanted to get the whole context of this great unspoken trust event between Dick and Joan.

He wanted everyone he could get, and Joan was good at this, assaults on fixed positions, and she’d seen it, could tell him things about how she’d come through the country that couldn’t be explained in a five minute meeting in a farmyard. “Sir, Lieutenant Warren has seen the - “

Strayer’s stare was murderous, and Dick realized he shouldn’t have questioned. “That’s an order, Winters.  Now grab your men and move out.”

“Sir!”

“Dick.” Joan had followed him out of the CP, running a few steps to catch up.  “I know what I saw. Four guns, Entrenched, I think - and well concealed. Brush and netting. But three towards the coast, and one covering the road. A corner, not a line. Lieb was with me, he’ll - he’ll know.”

He nodded, not knowing what else to do, and went to collect the rest of the platoon, giving instructions so Compton could shout for the company to circle up on him. “Mahoney, Shapiro, Russo, with Lieutenant Warren to the ammo dump. Everyone else up here with Winters.”

And that’s all the women are good for, is it? We’re leaving some of our best players on the bench here. Dick wanted to admonish Buck for the assignments, but this wasn’t the place, and there wasn’t time - and Gordon wasn’t here to remind him of how the game should be played. Dick took a breath and pulled himself into the matter at hand, taking his pencil from his pocket along with a small pad of cheap newsprint, grateful it was still dry. “The 88s we've been hearing...have been spotted in a field, down the road aways. Major Strayer wants us to take them out. They’re firing on Utah Beah, this way.” His pencil moved over the paper, drawing the position and the approach. Three guns, four? If they did this wrong, if Joan had seen wrong, had miscalculated, they would pull wide, perhaps cover more ground than necessary, loose cover crossing a field that did not need to be crossed - but if Strayer was wrong, and they missed the fourth gun, he would be sending men into the middle of a well fortified position to die. Who did he trust?  His pencil swiveled, and he carved the L into the paper. “And plan on the fourth gun, here, covering the inland approach.”

He continued speaking, about the trenches, the machine gun at the back of the emplacement and could feel Joan’s eyes on him, burning from the back row, and when he looked up she was smiling, angry to be left behind, grateful to have been heard. “Right, let’s move OUT.”

Ah, Brecourt.

Two things. First, this is obviously a huge scene in terms of Dick's leadership, and the way the men view him - he is quick, competent, and wildly brave.

I knew I couldn't just take this action and give it to someone else. It has to remain his. I also didn't know how I felt trying to add the girls in; it's a pretty tight operation, and everyone has a part.

The second is depending on who you ask, there are several ways the assault happened.

As with any great war story, where you were when the attack took place mattered - Winters had a version (the Army War College version) I believe Malarkey had a version that's slightly different, and if you look at the ground at Brecourt, as many battlefield historians have done, they call Winters' memory into account on the placement of the guns.

So I decided to use this uncertainty to create a moment for Joan before the assault starts - she couldn't go with, because that's too easy and too obvious, so she provides the initial site observation, which differs from the aerial reconnaissance that Strayer is consulting.

I wrote a version this scene before a lot of other material, and ended up writing in more moments of Strayer second-guessing Joan before this; by the time we get here it's been pretty well established that he doesn't think she's good for much.

So the scene becomes both an establishing shot for Winters in the action of it, but also in the planning - who do I trust here? A man who outranks me, or my colleague? He knows he's being watched, by his men, by Joan, and he makes a decision and publicly commits to it. In the middle of all of this, his message to Joan, without saying anything directly, is clear: I trust you, even if Strayer doesn't.

This also creates a moment of powerlessness for Joan - she's the type of person who likes to do her own work and lead from the front, and she can't here. She has to leave this with Dick and trust that he can make it. (It's a situation that may well be reversed later in the story.)

There's another layer after this is all over, which doesn't get mentioned but exists purely in my head to spite a certain type of armchair historian - Joan reports that the guns were 88s, and they're actually 105s. Dick never brings that up afterwards, because in the big picture it doesn't really matter. The thing that mattered, their placement and eventual destruction, was correct.

[heyitsani]

We Might Fall (But We Won’t Break)

Keep on Truckin’ AU Pt 4

Word Count: 7203

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: Talks about Dick’s time at the juvenile center but nothing more than a mention of racism, mentions of dead parents, mentions of missing parents.

Pairing: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Summary: Officer Grayson is asked to take a teen into his home until CPS is able to find him a place to stay.

Notes: Part 4 of my Food Truck owner!Jason au.  This is where we add Duke into the mix.  I have a couple coda pieces to follow this one that won’t be full installments because they aren’t moving the plot forward, just embellishing it.

I was also asked by an anon to establish ages for reference

Bruce: 42 (Yes, he was 23 when he began fostering Dick. Money talks.) Dick: 27 (Fostered at 8, adopted at 12) Jason: 24 Tim: 21 (Fostered at 10, adopted at 11) Duke: 17 (He is brought in permanently this installment) Damian: 16 (Arrived at 10)

You can also read this on AO3 here and find the entire series here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello, Officer Grayson,” the kind voice of the front receptionist greeted Dick as he walked into the precinct on his day off.  

“Gracie, how are you doing this lovely day?”  He stopped at her desk to lean against it for a moment.  He smiled down at her, watching her shrug a shoulder.

“It’s been a weird day so far.  Lots of odd visitors and calls.”  Dick hummed and glanced at the lock door behind her that would lead him into the main room of offices.  “What brings you by today?  I know it’s your day off.”

“Sure is.  Got big plans.  But Commissioner called me to come in to ask me something.  He in his office?”  The smile on Gracie’s face fell into a frown and that piqued his curiosity. Gordon hadn’t sounded particularly happy on the phone, but he rarely did when calling on official business.  Even if he and Dick had known each other since Dick was just a boy being adopted by Bruce Wayne.

“He’s in his office. He’s got a kid in there with him.” A kid?  That was certainly curious.  “I’ll call and let him know you’re here.  Did he say to just go on back?”

“Yeah, said to just walk in because he knew I had plans for the day and didn’t want me to have to wait around.”  She nodded and flicked the lock on the door, causing Dick to push off her desk and grab the handle to tug it open.  “I’ll see you on my way out.  Thanks Gracie!”  

He tried not to think about the frown that remained on her face despite the wave she sent his way. He would ask her about it on his way out.  Right now he just wanted to get in and out of Gordon’s office so he could meet Jason for lunch.

“Jim?”  Dick called out as he knocked and pushed open the door to Commissioner Gordon’s office.  The older man looked over his shoulder from where he sat in the chairs usually reserved for the visitors of his office, his bad to the entrance. Dick could see the top of a bowed head of dark hair over his shoulder but focused on his boss.

“Great, Dick.  Come on in.  Close the door.”  Gordon stood and revealed a teenager who sat slouched forward, face buried in his hands. Sending Jim a questioning look, Dick shut the door behind him before walking further into the office and slipping his hands into the pockets of his black slacks.  “Duke, this is the man I was telling you about.”  The teen seemed to take a shuddering breath before lifting his head and turning red rimmed eyes onto Dick.  “Dick this is Duke Thomas and I have a bit of a situation on my hands that I think you’re the best to help with.”

“I’ll help however I can, sir,” Dick replied before he moved closer to Duke.  Crouching down, Dick got eye level with Duke and looked into his golden brown eyes while giving him a small smile.  “It’s nice to meet you Duke.”  The teen said nothing, but nodded before dropping his gaze down to his hands that now rested in his lap.  Frowning, Dick looked up at Gordon and waited for some kind of reason for this meeting.

“Duke’s parents were declared missing last night and we’ve run into a bit of a housing situation.”  Rising to stand again, Dick remained silent while his boss explained how there were no openings at any of the orphanages and that the juvenile center was the only place who could take him.  Unless someone could be deemed an emergency foster home. And that explained why Dick was there.

It also made him aware that he was most likely going to be canceling on Jason.

He had taken the time two years ago to file as an emergency option for kids who were temporarily homeless and had no other place to go.  As of that exact moment, he had housed three kids for one night each as Child Services worked to find a more permanent solution.  And since Gordon was an officer when Dick had lost his parents and ended up in the juvenile center because all of the orphanages wouldn’t take someone like him, his boss was well aware he wouldn’t want any kid to go there if he had an opening in his home.

“I see,” Dick responded to Gordon before he took the chair one space away from Duke, giving the teen space so he didn’t feel pressured.  “Duke, I have had three other kids stay with me in the past.  Each one only stayed a single night; just enough time to let CPS do their thing.  Jim calls me in these situations because as a kid, I was placed into the juvenile center and I will never stand by and allow another kid go there when I can help.”

Duke looked up at Dick and the older man smiled at him, trying to seem open and welcoming.

“How old are you, Duke?”

“Seventeen.”  A year older than Damian.  And about to age out of a system he’s about to go into.  That was problematic.

“Do you want to come stay with me until we can find you a more permanent place to live?”

“I won’t have to go to the center?”

“No.  You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you need to.” Dick watched him look over at Gordon before he looked back to Dick and gave a small, but thankful smile.  

“Duke, I need to chat with Dick about a couple of things and have him sign some papers before you leave. You can stay here and we’ll be just next door in the spare office.”  Dick rose to his feet and nodded at Duke, who was still watching him, before following Gordon out of the office.

“You could have told me over the phone,” Dick commented as soon as the door was shut.  “I would have canceled by plans before coming here.  Or at least given him a heads up.”

“I know, but the kid has been with me since we picked him up late last night.  I took him everywhere trying to find someplace for him.” Sighing, Dick pulled out his cell phone and looked at the time.  He might catch Jason before he leaves.  “Go ahead and make the call while I grab the paperwork.”  

Dick didn’t bother responding as he pulled up Jason’s contact and let the phone dial.

“I’m leaving in like two minutes, please don’t tell me I’m late.”  He couldn’t help but laugh at the other man, knowing full well that Jason was aware of the time.

“About that…”

“You got called into work again?!”  Jason groaned and Dick winced.  They had rescheduled too many dates recently because the precinct was understaffed, and Dick could never say no when Gordon called.  “You need a day off Dick.  You’re working yourself into the ground.  You fell asleep during sex two nights ago!”

“I was called into work, but not to actually work.”

“Okay?  What the hell does that mean?”

Sitting on the edge of the empty desk in the office next to Gordon’s, Dick looked out the wall of windows. “Remember how I told you I’m one of the few emergency foster parents available in the city?”  Jason grunted in response.  “There’s a seventeen-year-old kid and his parents are missing.  All of the homes are full, and the only other place is the juvenile center.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”  Sighing, Dick dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes.  “I can’t say no, Jay.  I know I haven’t told you much about the space of time between my parents and Bruce, but it’s ugly.  And I can’t let another kid go through that.  The same racist piece of shit is still running it and I won’t subject this kid to that.”  There was silence on the other end for a moment before Jason’s voice came back, softer.

“What can I do?  Do you have food?  Want me to go set up the spare room?”  And damn if these questions didn’t just cement the fact that Dick was well on his way to being in love with this man.

“I don’t deserve you. But if you could do a food shop? I’m going to ask the kid what he likes to eat and I can send you a list?”

“You are such an idiot, Dickie.  You don’t even see the amazing person the rest of us do.”  Dick scoffed and rolled his eyes, but was glad Jason couldn’t see the blush that was spreading over his cheeks.  “But yeah, send me the list and I’ll get on it.”

“Thanks, Jay.”

“Anything for you.  You let me know if I can do anything else.” Dick confirmed and said a soft goodbye just as Gordon walked back into the office with a stack of papers in hand.

By the time everything was squared away with the paperwork and Dick was given a chance to look over the case file, Dick was more than ready to eat his own hand.  He had taken a small break to give Duke a paper and pen to write a list of his favorite foods and snacks so he could send it off to Jason, but had spent the majority of the two hours signing his name on the all too familiar paperwork.

“Thanks again for doing this, Dick.  I know I ruined your day off, but I knew this wasn’t one you would want to let slip.” Dick shook Gordon’s hand as he and Duke stood at the front door of the building.  He said a goodbye to Gracie before guiding Duke out of the building and onto the street.

“I live a few blocks away and actually walked here because I was supposed to meet my boyfriend for lunch at the café down the street.  But I sent a message to my dad and he sent us a car,” Dick explained as he guided Duke toward the waiting towncar where Alfred stood waiting.

“Master Richard,” the man greeted with a nod, eyes flicking to Duke.

“Hey Alf,” Dick smiled. “This is Duke Thomas.  He’s going to be staying with me for a bit.  Thanks for giving us a ride.”

Alfred considered the teenager and Dick knew he was sizing him up in a way only Alfred ever could. “It is a pleasure to meet you Master Duke.  And it is certainly no problem.  I am happy to help when I can.”

“Just Duke, please. I’m no one’s master.”  Dick could see the teen cringing and Alfred was silent for a beat before he nodded.

“Very well.”  The older man pulled open the back-passenger door for the pair and waited for the pair to slip in before shutting the door and heading for the driver’s seat.

“I forgot that you’re a Wayne,” Duke muttered, looking uncomfortable in the situation.

Dick nodded, “This is not a normal occurrence for me.  I don’t live a lavish lifestyle.”  Though Dick did wonder if he should let the kid know he lived in a penthouse that Bruce had bought for him.  But it wasn’t like he was riding around in the Bentley and drinking out of crystal. “When we get to the apartment, you can settle in and make yourself at home.  If there’s anything from your house that you want but were unable to get, we can go by tomorrow and grab it.  You’ve been excused from school for the week, but if you want to go then I’d be happy to call and let them know you’ll be in.”

“Can I decide tomorrow?”

“That works for me,” Dick agreed.  If he were honest, he was a little surprised there was any kind of consideration. Most kids were happy to get out of school.  He was actually surprised at how collected Duke was about the whole situation.  The other kids Dick had taken in had been much younger and that could be why they were a lot more emotional, but Duke seemed to be locking everything up.  Dick considered that perhaps he was waiting until he was alone to let go.  Gordon had mentioned he had been with the teen since they had picked him up.

The car came to a stop in front of Dick’s building and the older man glanced at Duke to watch his reaction.  “Of course you live here.  Let me guess, top floor?”  Dick winced and shrugged, almost unapologetic.  Almost.

“Here we are, sirs,” Alfred said as he pulled open the door so they could climb out.  “Master Richard, shall I inform your father of the situation?  Or would you like to wait until the situation has resolved?”

“Give me a couple of days. The others were only with me for a day before CPS found homes.  Let me see how the cards fall.  I’ll call B in a few days.”

“And the young Master?”

“I’ll call Dames tonight and ask him to keep his distance.”  That caught Duke’s attention as he stood next to Dick and adjusted his bag. “My youngest brother can be a bit…prickly with strangers when it comes to me.”

“I know Damian.  I go to Gotham Academy.  He’s chill.”  That caught Dick by surprise, and he looked at Alfred who seemed just as surprised.

Shaking his head, Dick smiled at Alfred.  “Thanks for the ride, Alfred.  I promise I’ll call B in a few days.”  The older man nodded and said his goodbyes before rounding the car to drive off. “All right, let’s head in.  Jason, my boyfriend, will be here soon with the food. Is that good with you?”

“That you’re gay?”

“Bi, but no.  I more meant meeting another new person.”  Duke just shrugged his shoulders and followed Dick as he led them into the building.  “I know that being thrown into this situation can be hard, but I don’t want you to think you can’t voice an opinion just because it’s my home.  If you are uncomfortable with another person coming over then I’ll let Jay know to just ring the doorbell and drop the stuff off.”

Dick smiled down at the teen as warmly as he could, holding a hand to the elevator so that the door would stay open while they got on.  Duke just watched, looking as though he was processing what he had been told.  When he looked away as the doors slid shut as Dick hit the penthouse button, he let out a sigh.

“I don’t mind if he comes in, but I might just lay down for a bit.”

Dick nodded and slipped his hands into his pockets.  “Okay,” was all Dick offered up in my response.  He was getting the feeling that Duke wasn’t that chatty of a person and Dick would definitely have to consider that for however long he stayed here.

The remainder of the ride was done in silence and Dick made a mental checklist of all the things he was going to need to handle.  The first and foremost would be to call the agent at CPS that he usually worked with. He had a feeling he knew exactly what she would end up telling him and he had a feeling that Alfred knew too, considering he mentioned Bruce.  But until Dick knew for sure, he didn’t want to mention anything to Duke.  He didn’t want to raise expectations and foster assumptions without any base.

When the elevator doors slid open with a ding, Dick smiled at Duke and led the way to one of the only two doors on the floor.  “This is us. I’ll give you a key if you end up staying here for more than a day or two, so you can come and go as you please. Within reason, of course.”  Duke just shrugged a shoulder and waited for Dick to unlock the door and step aside for the teen to head inside.  Dick watched him take in the wide open space and the modern, clean style.  Dick had taken a bit of pride in how he had ended up decorating the place, but he knew it was a little too clinical for most people.  But Dick was a minimalist, had been since he had been born.  Living on the road with the circus had taught him to keep only what he could carry and only what was necessary.

“Help yourself to whatever in the kitchen, except the booze.  I’m a cop,” Dick joked, counting a small victory when Duke huffed a laugh. “TV is usually always on and if it’s not, the music is.  I don’t like silence.  Growing up in the circus doesn’t foster quiet in someone.  But feel free to use both.  There’s a tv in the room you’ll stay in, so you can hang out in there too. Here,” Dick gestured to the door that led to the spare room, “is your room.  There’s an attached bathroom.  But this door is also a bathroom,” he pointed to the door separating the spare room and Dick’s.  “That’s my room.  Door is pretty much always open so if you need me just go in.  Knock if the door is shut.”

Pushing the door open to the spare room, Dick let Duke go ahead of him again so he could check it out and get comfortable.  The queen sized bed sat against the far wall, dressed in white and on a raised platform. The opposite wall held a long dresser with a flat screen hanging above it.  To the left was the closet and the right the in-suite bathroom.

“I’ll let you get settled. Jason should be here soon so if you want to meet him, you can come out.  If not, no problem.”

“Thanks, Officer Grayson.” Dick laughed and shook his head.

“Just call me Dick, Duke.” The teen nodded and set his bags down at the foot of the bed before Dick left and closed the door behind him.

It wasn’t even three minutes later that Dick’s phone was ringing and Jason’s name and face were flashing at him.

“Hey,” he greeted, moving into the kitchen to make some coffee.  It was bound to be a long night for him.

“I’m downstairs. Should I come in or just drop and ditch?”

“Drop and ditch? Really?”  Jason laughed through the line and Dick felt fondness blossom in his chest.  “Come in. The kid said he didn’t care, but I don’t know if he’ll come out to meet you.”

“Cool.  I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Door is unlocked,” Dick told him before letting his phone drop down onto the counter and he continued setting up the coffee maker.  He made enough for Jason even though he knew the other man would probably put on a pot for tea if he stayed for longer than a few minutes.

Dick heard the rustling of bags before he heard Jason.  “Hey handsome,” the familiar tone called out as he rounded the corner from the hallway, lazy smile on his face.

“Hey yourself,” Dick smiled back, tilting his head back to accept the kiss the younger man pressed to his mouth before he set the bags down on the counter near the fridge. “Sorry about today.  I really was looking forward to it.”

“I was too, but we have plenty of dates ahead of us.  I can’t exactly blame you for this one.”  And no, Dick supposed he couldn’t.  “Besides, I’m still getting to see you.  Just because it’s not what we had originally planned doesn’t mean that it’s not just as good.”

“You cheeseball,” Dick teased, leaning back against the island and crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Jason unload the bags.  He noticed all the things that had been on the list and a few other items. “Is that…?”  Pushing forward, Dick glanced over the items sitting there. “You’ve been talking with Alfred.”

“I figured if I couldn’t spend today with you, I would probably get the chance in the next day or so. And since you’re being you and having such a big heart, I wanted to spoil you for it,” Jason shrugged.  Dick let his eyes scan over the ingredients to make crab stuffed mushrooms before reaching up to pull Jason in for a kiss by the back of his neck.  There was a soft thud of whatever Jason had been holding as it hit the counter so his arms could circle around Dick’s waist and pull the older man in closer.

Dick knew he should stop this now because Duke was just in the other room and Dick really didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, but Jason was always so tempting and his mouth was just so talented.

“We should stop,” he managed to say, pulling back for a second before surging forward again and reconnecting their mouths.  Jason hummed in response, taking control of the kiss so he could slow it down.

“We really should.  We don’t want to scar the kid.”

“No, we don’t,” Dick agreed. But even though he had pulled back enough to look into Jason’s turquoise eyes, he didn’t separate their bodies.  “But I also don’t want to hide, so…”  The silence that fell between them was comfortable as they just soaked each other in.  It had become so easy to lose himself in Jason in the months since they had started dating for real.  It got easier and easier with each passing day.  To the point where Dick was pretty sure this was it.  

Jason was it.

“Oh, sorry,” a meek voice sounded, pulling the pair apart.

“Duke, hey,” Dick smiled at the teen, trying to hide the awkwardness.  Thankfully, they had stopped the kissing and were just starring at each other at that point.  Still awkward, but not as bad.  “Did you need something?”

Duke shrugged a shoulder and looked at Jason for a moment before his eyes went back to Dick.  “You said I could meet Jason if I wanted to. I also wanted to get something to drink. I could smell the coffee,” he gestured to the now ready pot.

Jason stepped forward with his hand out, “I’m Jason.  It’s nice to meet you.”  Dick watched them exchange a handshake before he grabbed a mug out of the cabinet for Duke.

“Creamer is in the fridge and sugar next to the coffee maker,” he told Duke as he handed over the mug. “Do you like crab, Duke?  Jason brought stuff to make crab stuffed mushrooms. He’s an amazing chef.”

“I like it well enough,” he muttered as he busied himself with the coffee.  “You own that food truck.  The egg roll one.  I’ve had it a few times when you park near GA during lunch.”

Jason nodded.  “Yup, that’s me.  The kids always enjoy us when we swing by.”  Duke nodded and Dick watched him as he fixed up his coffee just how he wanted it.  The silence felt awkward and while Dick usually good at filling silences up with his chatter, he wasn’t really sure what to say now.  So, he looked over at Jason, who was already looking at him, and raised his brows.  Jason’s only response was to shrug as he went back to busying himself with the food.

“Can I help?”  Duke spoke up again, pulling both of their attention back to him.  “I like to cook.”  Glancing back to Jason, Dick found him smiling and nodding.

He held out a bunch of celery and gestured to the knife stand.  “Cutting boards are in the cabinet above the knives,” he instructed, and Dick moved out of the way so the two of them could work.  

It turned out to be perfect timing as his phone started to ring with the number for CPS flashing.

“I’ll be in my room,” Dick waved his phone at the two of them and left them to their own devices. He picked up the call as he made his way through the living room and toward his room.  “This is Grayson,” he answered, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him.

“Dick, it’s Macy,” a familiar voice greeted him.  She was a social worker he had known since he had joined the force years ago.  “I hear you have Duke Thomas with you.”

“Yeah, Gordon called me in a few hours ago to come in and have me take him in.  I wasn’t expecting a call on a Saturday though, Mac.  Burning the midnight oil?”  He teased as he sat down on the edge of his bed, smiling as he heard his friend laughing on the other end.

“You got me.  But truth be told, Duke’s mom is actually one of us.  We all kind of jumped on this one.”  That made Dick’s eyebrows raise.  So, Duke knew that the odds of him being placed in foster care were low.  “And we’re in a pickle.”

“Because he’s 17?”

“Exactly.  No one wants to take him.  And the one home that might, which is a big might, is full and the kids are happy.”  Dick sighed, looking at his closed door knowing what he had to do.

“I might have an option.”

“Are you sure?  I know what you’re thinking, but do you think he would?”  And yeah, Dick was more than certain that this solution would actually work but he didn’t know how comfortable Duke would be.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Dick sighed again.  “Yeah, he’ll do it.  But Duke doesn’t seem comfortable with my level of affluent.  I’m not sure how he’ll handle Bruce’s.  Maybe I should just keep him here?”

“I hope you won’t,” Macy said honestly, and Dick made a noise of question.  “You’re only able to take one kid at a time given your career and space.  If you keep Duke, we lose an emergency home.”

“That’s a good point.” He frowned and thought for a moment, listening to the clacking of Macy obviously on her computer.  “Okay, I’ll call Bruce and talk to Duke once I hear what he has to say.  I’m going to keep Duke for a few days though.”  Macy agreed with his plan and hung up, leaving Dick in silence as he stared down at his phone.

But there wasn’t much to consider in the situation.  Duke needed a place and Dick needed to have his room open should another kid need the same help.  So Dick dialed Bruce’s number and waited for his father to answer.

“Dick,” the no nonsense greeting came through and a familiar warmth filled his chest.

“Bruce, how are you?” There was a grunt before some background talking and then silence.

“I’m thankful for this interruption to a mundane business meeting that was supposed to happen yesterday and not today,” his adoptive father said into the phone and Dick chuckled. He knew how much Bruce hated the corporate life, but kept it on because it was his father’s company.  Thankfully, Tim had enjoyed the business and Dick had been able to pursue a career he enjoyed.  “But something tells me that this is not a social call to check in since I’m pretty sure I remember Alfred mentioning you would be with Jason today and for all of us to leave you alone.”

Of course Alfred had told them that.  “I am technically with him, but something came up with work so things had to adjust.”

“Dick, you are working too hard.  You need a day off.  Do no make me call Jim and berate him for overworking my son.”

“I didn’t work today, but Gordon called me in for an emergency foster.”  Bruce hummed and Dick knew he was waiting to hear what he had to do with this.  “All of the homes were full, and the only option was the juvenile center or me.”

“I see.”  

Dick remembered what Bruce had done for him after getting him out of the center when he was eight. He remembered the comfort from the nightmares from the memories of that place.  And he knew Bruce would always remember.  How he had worked so hard to try and get the monsters removed from the staff, but hadn’t been able to get them all.

“There’s no where for him to go.  I just got off the phone with CPS and since Duke’s mom is a social worker, they tried their best but there’s nothing.  And they don’t want me to keep him because I can only take one kid at a time.”

Bruce hummed again and Dick waited to see if he would put it together.  “I know what you’re getting at, but I would like to talk to him before I agree.”

“Tomorrow?  He’s making dinner with Jay and I’d rather not have you meet my boyfriend like this for the first official time,” Dick joked, but Bruce chuckled and agreed.

“I will bring breakfast and coffee.”

“Great.  I’ll fill him in on everything tonight.  And then call CPS tomorrow.”

“I’ll be over at 9 then. See you then, Chum.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Dick hung up the phone and rubbed at his forehead just as his bedroom door pushed open and Jason’s head popped in.  

“Everything okay?” Dick nodded and pushed himself off the bed to head back out.  “We just put the mushrooms in, and I have a couple other things working, but Duke wanted to know how to work your record player.  Apparently, you have some good vinyl options.”

“Told you I had good taste in music.”

Jason snorted and walked ahead of him as they moved into the living room.  “If by good you mean old, then yeah.  Sure.”

Dick just shook his head with a wide grin as he walked over to where Duke was flipping through all the records he had near the record player that Damian and Tim had given him for Christmas a few years back after the one he had had before had broken.

“These are classics, Dick. How long have you been collecting?” Duke asked as he looked over a Supremes record.

“Half of them were my dad’s.  But I grab the oldies when I see them at the local music shop,” Dick shrugged.  It was one of the few things he had kept going after the death of his parents.  One of the few things that had brought comfort and not pain.  Leaning over, Dick plugged the machine in and flicked it on so Duke could play whatever he fancied.  

Once the teen had settled on Simon & Garfunkel, Dick glanced to see where Jason was.  Seeing him at the stove, stirring something, he nodded and turned back to Duke.  “I need to talk to you about your situation.”  That made Duke straighten up and lose a bit of the happiness in his eyes, but Dick knew he needed to be made aware.

“There’s no place for me,” he said, sighing.

“Not in the current homes, no.  I could keep you here, but I am one of the few emergency options and can only have one kid at a time because of my job and the lack of space.”  Duke nodded and his shoulders drooped a bit.  “But my dad has plenty of room and he has taken fosters in the past, two of which he adopted.”

Duke looked confused and Dick smiled.  “My brother Tim and I were fosters.  And he said he’s happy to have you stay with him, but would like to meet you tomorrow before any decisions are made.  He wants to be sure you’d be comfortable and that it would be a good fit.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then I suppose the city will have to either grant me another space or they’ll lose an emergency home.”  The relieved look on Duke’s face almost broke Dick’s heart.  So he placed a hand on the teen’s shoulder and ducked his head to look him right in the eyes.  “I will not let you go to that center.  And I will not let you be kicked to the curb by the system when you turn 18.  And the entire CPS office is on your side.”

Nodding his head, Dick sighed.  “Yeah, they know my mom.”  Dick nodded, showing he knew.  He gave Duke’s shoulder a squeeze before letting go.

“Bruce will be here tomorrow at 9 with breakfast.  You’ll chat and then he’ll leave so you can think it over.  There will be no pressure and no rush.  You can stay here as long as it takes you to decide.”

“Thanks, Dick.”  He sounded a little choked and Dick wanted to hug him, but instead he straightened up and took a step back.  

“Duke, I could use a hand if you’re done indulging Dick in his old man music!”  Duke laughed and Dick rolled his eyes at the kid before jerking his head in Jason’s direction.  Dick watched him put the sleeve for the record down on the table and head back over to Jason to help the older man out.  Taking a moment to just observe the two, Dick took a few deep breaths to clear his head before he joined in.

Dick watched the closed door of Duke’s room while he sipped at his cup of coffee, local news playing in the background.  He had been up for about two hours already, working on a few things for cases he had at work, waiting for 9 o’clock to roll around and Bruce to arrive.  But that was in less than 30 minutes and Duke had yet to emerge from the room.  Dick was beginning to think he should knock on the door but didn’t want to pressure the kid or freak him out.

So instead, he turned his focus back to the papers on the coffee table and tried to get some things sorted.  Which managed to distract him enough that he didn’t notice the time passing or Duke emerging from his room about five minutes before Bruce was due to arrive.

“Is there more coffee?” The sound of Duke’s voice caught Dick off guard, and he jumped slightly, snapping his gaze up to the teen.   The same teen who was currently laughing at him. “Sorry.”

Dick waved it off. “Yeah, there’s still some in the pot. But it’s a couple hours old and Bruce is bringing fresh,” he told Duke.  He watched him internally debate whether or not to get a cup now or wait. And then he watched as the decision was pretty much made for him when the sound of the front door opening filled the room.  

“Honestly, Damian, knocking is the polite thing to do,” Dick could hear Bruce berating his brother, who he hadn’t thought would be coming by for their usual Sunday morning breakfast given the circumstances.

“What is the point of having a key, which Richard gave me, if I’m not going to use it?”  Damian questioned back as they rounded the corner and came into view.  The pair immediately paused when they found Dick still seated and Duke standing, watching them both.

“Dames, I didn’t think you’d be coming this morning,” Dick smiled, standing and moving over to greet the pair.

“Thomas, good to see you. Hopefully, Richard has been accommodating.”  Damian looked over his peer and gave a nod after Duke nodded.

Bruce stepped forward and held his hand out to the teen.  “Hello, Duke.  I am Bruce, it’s nice to meet you,” his words were formal, but his smile warm.  It brought forth a memory long forgotten of the same smile as Dick exited the center to find Bruce waiting by his fancy black car, Dick’s bag in hand.

Duke shook his hand in return and gave a tentative smile.  “It’s nice to meet you too, sir.”

“None of that sir, stuff. I am just Bruce.  Now, let’s have some breakfast and chat.  Leave these two to whatever it is they do on their Sunday mornings.”  Bruce clapped a hand onto Duke’s shoulder before guiding him into the kitchen so they could sort through whatever food Alfred had prepared and get their coffee fixed.

“I have that new game, shall we?”  Damian’s voice pulled Dick’s eyes away from his dad and the teen before he was pulled into his bedroom so they could play whatever zombie game Damian had managed to convince Bruce he had to have.  “Pennyworth made us our usual and I assume you’ve already consumed too much caffeine.”

“None of that judgment stuff,” Dick joked, grabbing the remote and wireless controllers to his game station before taking up his usual spot on the bed and Damian sitting next to him. They waited for the tv to rise from the hidden compartment in his footboard, Dick giving Damian his controller and Damian handing over his egg, bacon, and cheese sandwich.  He happily ate his food while Damian logged into the system and pulled up the game from his library.

“Father said you asked him to take Thomas in.”  Dick hummed in response and raised a brow when he looked at his brother, trying to figure out if this would be good or bad.  “He was one of the few who were kind to me before he even knew me.  I would like for him not to be placed in a situation where he would be…where someone might be unkind to him.”

Smiling, Dick wrapped an arm around his brother and gave him a sideways hug.  “If B doesn’t take him, he will be staying here.”  He watched Damian consider him and what he was saying before he got a nod and his brother turned back to the game.  “Now.  Let’s get this party started.  Wally said this game is intense and I’m curious what he thinks “intense” is these days.”

Damian only snorted a laugh and started the game up for them.

“No!  Come on!  This algorithm is screwed!”  Dick tossed his controller down on the bed as Damian laughed and finished off the remaining zombies that had just killed Dick’s character off.  “Hand over the sweets, I earned them,” he grumbled, holding his hand out for the container that he knew had shortbread cookies in it. Damian held it out without complaint before he looked over at the doorway, causing Dick to look up.

“Father,” Damian greeted, and Bruce raised a brow at the sight of the two of them on the bed, food wrappers and various drinks on the bedside tables.

“Is this what you two get up to?”

“Sometimes,” Dick said around the cookie in his mouth.  Bruce sent him an unamused look.

“Damian, I would like to speak with Dick for a moment.”  Damian nodded and slipped off the bed, grabbing what little trash they had set aside and vacated the room without a backward glance.  Dick watched the man walk further into the room and shut the door behind him.  “I offered Duke a room in our home.  He said he would like a day to think about it and that he would tell you tomorrow before he goes to school what he decided.”

Dick nodded and set the container of cookies down next to him before swinging his legs off the bed. “Thanks, Bruce.  I know it’s probably not ideal, but Macy and I didn’t really know what else to do.”

Bruce waved a hand dismissively.  “It is fine. My hours at WE are not what they were when I adopted you or Tim and Duke is much older than either of you.”  Dick nodded and stood.  “I would like to have you over for dinner the day he moves in, if that is the decision he makes.  I think it might be a good time to bring Jason with you.”

“Sure, B,” Dick laughed. “I’ll mention it to Jason.”

“I just want to meet the man who seems to have made you so happy.  All my sons have wonderful things to say about him and even Duke mentioned him kindly.  And all of that has nothing on the fact that Alfred has been talking to him multiple times a week over the phone.”  The look on his father’s face made Dick duck his head and rub at the back of his neck.

“I know, I know.  I get it, I do.  I’ll talk to him about it.  I’m sure Artemis can man the truck if it’s a day he’s supposed to work,” Dick said, trying to sound apologetic but not at the same time.  “We aren’t avoiding you and he has technically met you before,” Dick reminded him of the hospital but was duly chastised by the look on Bruce’s face.  “Things have been weird with my schedule.”

“Of this, I am aware.” And yeah, Bruce had made his opinion clear on the fact that Dick had been working too hard.

“We’ll be there, I promise.” Bruce hummed and nodded.  Dick watched the other man for a moment, noticing his gaze on the massive wall of pictures that Donna had put up for him when he had moved into the place.  “B?”

Bruce shook himself out of his trance and looked back down to Dick with a smile, “I should get going since I have some work to get done, but I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow.”  Dick followed Bruce out of his room and found his brother and Duke in the living room, looking through the records.  Dick was coming to realize that Duke definitely had a love of music after him fawning over the player all night last night.  “Damian, I am leaving.  I assume you will call Alfred to collect you when you are ready to return home, per usual?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Duke, it was nice to meet you and I will wait for Dick’s call with your decision.”  The teen nodded and gave a small smile, but remained silent as he watched Bruce head toward the door and Dick followed.

“Thanks again, Dad,” Dick said as he leaned in the doorway, Bruce standing just outside in the hallway.

The smile on Bruce’s face was one he reserved for his sons.  “I do not tell you enough, but I am very proud of the man you became.  It shows in the amount of people who love you, just as your family does.  For whatever impact I had on the person you are, I am glad to have even the smallest influence.”

“Come on, B,” Dick laughed softly.  “I have just as much Wayne in me as I have Grayson.  You’re a good dad.  You have three sons who are good men to prove it.”  Bruce only nodded before glancing toward the elevator as it dinged and opened to reveal the only other person who lived on this floor.  “Love you, old man.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Love you too, Dick.” Dick watched the older man walk down the hall, nodding a greeting to Dick’s neighbor before slipping onto the still open elevator.  With a wave, Dick watched the doors slide shut and turned to head back inside.

[polymathemawrites]

Hungover in the City of Dust - Part 3

cw: drug use, panic attacks, ptsd, injuries

Gordon gets medical treatment and has a nap (and the author steals from portuguese phrase sites to serve his own ends)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three below

Take a breath, and another, deep in his aching lungs, pull in air between broken lips. Trembling and raw, he looks up at Barney from his place seated on the cot. Something in his expression had caused Barney to relent and take on the medical treatment himself but Gordon's strength had given out when his friend had begun to try and treat his injured side. So clean enough, Gordon had been deposited on the cot and made to lay down, while Barney groaned to kneel beside him. He'd said he was fine but Gordon hadn't been able to shake the guilt of his friend putting himself in pain just to take care of his accidents. The Vortigaunts could have mended him maybe and yet Barney hadn't fetched one of them either. Perhaps it would have been practical but Gordon didn't think he could take it emotionally. Half of his break down was mental, not just physical, and the act of laying down as someone touched him without a mind to hurt him was doing wonders for his racing heart and the ache in his chest.

Barney's hands were sure as they gently soothed some sort of ointment over him, steady when they wrapped his wounds in clean cotton. When they caught each other's eyes, Barney smiled at him. "Once I get you all bandaged up I've got a shirt for you to sleep in, see if I can't find you some briefs that aren't too big either, I uh," Barney drew off, face flushing an adorable shade of red, "Usually go without these days, while I got the luxury of uniform skivvies back in the CP I'd always give 'em away to people who needed 'em more. Gets cold out in the wilderness."

"Not that they'd of fit you anyway." Barney patted Gordon's hip above where he was tending to the injury on his thigh, "Gained weight in my old age."

You look good.

Gordon's pulse jumps when Barney laughs self-consciously and strokes a circle into his hip with his thumb, "You don't gotta baby my feelings, Gord. I know I'm every bit fifty five and I look like I live off beer and ration packs, because I do."

He pushes himself up onto his elbows, the bandage Barney already applied around his arm stretching with the motion, it gets Barney's attention who then moves to try and push his shoulders back into the bed, Gordon expends his remaining energy to stay up which serves to put their faces inches away. Barney blinks in confusion and his surprise causes him to relent, leaning back a little but his hands stayed there on Gordon's shoulders, one dry and one slick with the ointment he's been applying to Gordon's injuries.

Talking is pretty hard at this angle, having to lean entirely on his elbows and bend his arms up toward his own raised chest causes his wound to press painfully against the cloth, probably would have been smarter to argue this while laying down.

You look really, okay and his body gives out, flopping back onto the limp and stained pillow, Really good, Barn.

"You still on the good shit, Gord?" Barney laughs softly, still leaning over him, hands on his shoulders.

No, my body hates me and everything is pain. You look really good.

Barney flushes, and then he curses under his breath, "Why didn't you say somethin' what a fuckin' good caretaker I am, lettin' you suffer! Dagnabbit!" He turns from Gordon to do something with the first aid box he'd dragged to the bed and Gordon turns his head to watch him, tired and drained.

Really good. Barney isn't looking at his hands, he probably doesn't even realize Gordon is signing. God, I love you so much.

"Here we go, somethin' to help with that." Barney comes up with a syringe and a glass vial, measures it out the old-fashioned way, no suit to shove it right into Gordon's veins. Despite the speed and numbness provided by the suit he far prefers the way Barney's sure hands tighten the strip of rubber around his upper arm and feel out a vein, the way he flicks his finger in a snap against the inside of Gordon's arm, the intimacy of alcohol swab and the soft voice that follows, "Little sting, darling." The prick is barely felt as he watches the single-minded focus on Barney's face as he slips needle to vein. The morphine hits him like a wave, splashes through his head with hot-hot-heat between one heartbeat and the next. Barney puts another bandage on him after loosening the rubber strip. "Better?"

Love. You. Gordon signs before letting his hand drop back to his side. He feels just fantastic. Just fuckin' fantastic.

Barney freezes up, eyes staring at where Gordon's hands had been, as if he could still see the sign pathing there, before he looks to Gordon's face and gives him a cryptic smile, "I'll be right back with somethin' comfortable for you to wear."

Gordon closes his eyes to shut everything out, to keep from seeing that cryptic smile anymore. He didn't say it back, but what was Gordon really expecting, after twenty years? Was he expecting Barney to return his affections now? Head full of exhaustion and morphine, it dulled the pain of rejection, but it still hurt worse than any of the wounds riddling his overtaxed body.

But Barney hasn't left yet, instead he places his hand on Gordon's chest - right above his heart, and Gordon opens his eyes to look up at Barney still in his Civil Protection uniform, blood stained as it is. "Tomorrow we're gonna talk about that. Can't just spring that on me right after I hit you with morphine, Gordon. Don't know what to think, you've got no idea how bad I've missed you." There is no amount of morphine, no amount of fatigue, that could obfuscate the look of loss and heartbreak that flickers in Barney's beautiful teal-brown eyes, "Missed you so bad, darlin' you don't know. Twenty years, and I," Barney's voice cracks and Gordon wants, needs, so much to pull Barney onto the cot with him, to hold him until that pain-thick sound is gone, but Barney is out of reach now, standing apart from him, hand no longer placed to pulse, "I've missed you. We'll talk about that tomorrow. See if you hold to that when you know what I've done, when you're thinkin' clearly."

Gordon really wants to tell him there isn't a single thing Barney could do or have done that would change the way he felt, feels, for him - but the man has slipped out of the room, leaving Gordon alone with his morphine addled headspace and every ounce of his exhaustion.

There is nothing Gordon can do against the dark when it claims him, only glad it's the old-fashioned slippery slide of sleep and not Him deciding maybe Gordon still has use yet.

"So, I take it I don't have much of a chance with you?" Alyx's voice isn't sad so much, it's sort of bemused. Gordon's hand tightens on the Zero Point Energy Field Manipulator in his tension. "I mean, if someone looked at me the way you look at him, I'd be a lucky girl."

Gordon flinches, she had to, she had to say the rest of it, didn't she?

Alyx makes a soft sound as he jumps down a steep incline, pathing to the next building, "Wait, Gordon! Hey, I - It's okay, I won't tell anyone." He hears her jump down after him, and when she goes to pull herself up onto the next platform he offers his hand to help her.

Momentary panic passing, he leans the really neat gun he was maybe way attached to now up against his leg, if only he'd had this thing back in Black Mesa, It wasn't okay, back then. Not really, not in the sector of the world I worked in.

"A lot has changed." She pats his arm and leans against the wall next to him as they both catch their breath, he had maybe started walking a little faster than the suit liked, "There aren't exactly enough people to get angry about who you love, not like any of us can get on the baby-making train anyway." Alyx laughs and Gordon rolls his eyes at her. "Oh come on, loosen up!" She digs her elbow into his side. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure he'd be really happy to know how you feel."

He smiles softly, Thank you.

Gordon wakes up to his pulse racing, nausea, blind-panic. He reaches out blindly and his hand hits a wall, he swings his arm and promptly knocks something across the small room. It is then that he realizes he is not alone in the room, and that the voice calling out his name is a familiar one. Before he ever recognizes it, his body is going limp, he begins to sob immediately. Gentle hands put his glasses on his face and he curls his hands around strong wrists. Barney is bleary above him due to tears. He looks so tired, dark circles under his eyes, scars and wrinkles, his grey-streaked hair disheveled and two days worth of beard-growth. He is the most beautiful person that Gordon has ever seen, he squeezes Barney's wrists a little harder, holding his hands still against his glasses, against the side of Gordon's face.

He can still hear Alyx's soft laugh, feel the ghost of pressure where her elbow had hit his side, except no, that's the wound pulling from the strain of his panicked breathing.

"You're safe, I've got you, you're safe Gordon."

His tears won't stop, his heart is going so fast, he can't breathe, looking up at Barney he drowns in his own guilt, his own pain. This was all his fault, every fucking part of it. His hands had pushed that fucking sample in, caused the Resonance Cascade that collapsed everything together and ended the world as they knew it, he was the fucking R.E.M song, it was him. Slash and burn, return, listen to yourself churn - fuck, god, what has he done? Oppenheimer had nothing on Gordon Freeman.

Barney pulls him up, wraps his arms around Gordon, less padding now without his Civil Protection armor but that just means that Gordon can feel the heat of him sinking through the layers of their shirts, the strong thick circle of his arms wrapped around him so tight. Barney whispers soft words into his ear, breath hot against his skin, and Gordon clutches to him like a life-line in the ocean of his own trauma. It isn't English, his burning brain informs him, and he clutches onto that fact. Focus, focus on the rhythm of words he has no hope of understanding, focus on this new data to trick his broken brain into leaving the panic behind.

"Amo-te com todo meu coração," Barney whispers, hand cupping the back of Gordon's neck, the other low on his back, chest to chest, and he's gently rocking him side to side, "meu coração é sempre seu."

Words flowing, and Gordon drags in each breath through painful burning lungs, one after another, until his chest matches the rise and fall of the one pressed to it. He shudders and collapses, held tighter still by the iron bracket of Barney's arms.

"Se eu fiz algo certo na minha vida," Drawing back, Barney's lips and words drag against Gordon's jaw, "foi quando eu dei o meu coração para você." The tears have stopped, and Gordon is breathless from his panic attack and the soft reverence of Barney's words, the raspy grasp that each syllable holds on his heart. He's in so deep, he's so scared, he doesn't know what to do with the stillness, with the pain turning him up inside, with the weight of his own love and the fragility of his own humanity. It was an accident, except it wasn't, orchestrated the whole way through, unforeseen consequences, except someone had known it all along, had set him up to take the fall and jump through every hoop.

Standing still in time and space and the anger that has kept him alive for so long, the rage that has burned in him for years, it's not enough to pull him through this moment. Barney's warm gaze, his strong arms, "You're safe, darling," that is enough to pull him through, "I'm right here."

Everything left behind, twenty years, six days. A whole world away from who he used to be, a whole two decades. A week ago he was a coward with his whole life ahead of him. Twenty years later and Barney has scars on his body and heart that Gordon wasn't there to protect his best friend from. Who has listened to Barney say he was right all along about aliens? Who has loved him while Gordon was sleeping? And if there has been no one? Does that make it worse that Gordon would step in now? Twenty years he left them all alone because he was the right man in the wrong place, and now Barney is comforting him.

I'm so sorry. For everything.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Gordon."

He's fucked up so much, so much that the eldritch-fuck-abomination took advantage of Alyx because he wasn't playing the good Agent of Cosmic Chaos. The Resonance Cascade and everything that had happened since, it was his fault for not out maneuvering the other pawns in this game of omniversal chess, and he was so sorry not that sorry would do fuck all.

I'll get her back, I'll fix everything, I'm so sorry.

Gordon watches Barney's heart break, no amount of age or change between them, nothing would be able to hide the emotion in his eyes. Gordon sinks under more guilt, building up that wall of pain and rage at himself, fuel for the fire in the hurt he'd caused Barney.

He feels Barney's hand tighten in his hair where a week ago there had been a ponytail until he'd cut it all off, the last thing to go in preparation for passing the final testing simulations. Barney moves his other hand to hold Gordon's jaw, his eyes heated and hard, "Listen to me, Gordon. This wasn't your fault, none of this was your fault. You didn't do this, you didn't take her, you didn't cause the shit to fly at Black Mesa. I was there, I was there too."

"It's time to let that go." Barney tells him, and Gordon wants to tell him it's too soon, but he can't. Not with Barney holding him so close, so intimately.

He tangles his hands in the front of Barney's shirt and falls into him, his words and his deep warm eyes, into his own love. Too strong to let twenty years matter, let alone six god-awful days. He loves him so much, he's loved him for so long, and he can't run from that anymore - no matter how awkward it makes things between them.

Barney loosens his grip and presses Gordon into the bed, laying down beside him, chest to hip, lowers Gordon's head to his chest. They lay tangled up on the slim cot and Gordon tangles himself around Barney even as Barney holds him tight. "You are so strong, Gordon. You've done more than any one man should ever have to." Soft words against his hairline.

"Close your eyes, think about those stars above Black Mesa. The cool desert air, feel me there with you?"

Gordon's eyes are shut tight, his ear to Barney's chest, a chin against the top of his head. They never laid like this together then, but he can feel him. The pinpricks of light from his eyes squeezed tight shut are the stars above them. He taps three times against Barney's chest, again with a pause, and then one final tap. Understood, he can see them, so clear that far out without light pollution from the city, most of Black Mesa's topside was dark this late at night.

"Nothing but us, no one else in the world." Barney is stroking his hair, petting his back, the steady beat of his pulse lulling him as much as the rumble of his words through the firm pillow of his chest. "Just the two of us here together, I'm not letting go, I've got you. It's time to rest Gordon. Up here far away from the rest of the world. Nothing to worry about, just us."

He is losing himself to the words and the picture Barney is painting with them. As White Forest fades there is just Barney and a nebulous desert sky. Bright stars and the promise of a future where he has all the time he needs to unravel secrets written in quantum code. He opens his eyes and the room comes back into focus but the steady core of hope burning in the painful prison of his chest remains, burns all the brighter to see Barney laying beneath him.

It's not too bad, after all. They're together again.

translations:

Amo-te com todo meu coração - I love you with all my heart

meu coração é sempre seu. - My heart is yours forever

Se eu fiz algo certo na minha vida, foi quando eu dei o meu coração para você. - If I did anything right in my life, it was when I gave my heart to you.

half-portuguese barney is @whitepointer 's HC and i love it and I love him okay thanks bye

[a-marlene-s]

My Take on the Reverse Robins

... Somehow.... it got angsty... For me that is.

Damian Wayne:

Damian knew his mother is part of the League of Assassins and his father is training to do... something. All he knew is that something, required him to train relentlessly. What for? He doesn’t know yet... until the then eight-year old now had to go live with his father full time and quickly found out the guy is Batman.

At least Alfred makes amazing cookies.

Tim Drake:

Did you ever have one of those days nothing goes your way? Batman and Robin had one of those days when they found himself unable to hack a computer in some warehouse. They were at their wits ends… and some scruffy kid had come back from scavenging food off the streets claiming that’s his computer. Ended up that Tim Drake was sold off by some random mob boss to settle his parent’s debt and has been the one hacking people left and right under the orders of the boss. One of those people? Bruce Wayne.

It ended up that Tim had found out Batman’s secret identity one day, and decided he was going to use it to his advantage. Reason? A new life. A better life. Leaving behind clues for Batman/Bruce to find to have the vigilante to look for Tim and in turn, the mob that has him.

Batman wanted to say no. Damian said yes and told Alfred of Tim, to get the man to agree with him. Alfred already had a room ready before the call even ended.

When Tim got killed by Joker… it hurt all of them to the core. Tim wanted a better life than the one he had before, but they all feel like they failed him massively.

Jason Todd:

By this time, Damian now goes by Nightwing and now has a rocky relationship with his father. Bruce became more reclusive in his personal life and reckless during his time as Batman. The death of Tim hit them both hard and are refusing to talk about it.  Something took note of the massive change of dynamic, that person is Jason Todd. The son of an old friend of Bruce, Catherine Todd.

Bruce began to know Jason when Catherine needed to runaway from her abusive husband. Jason stayed in the manor several times for his own protection. In one of those many stays, Bruce messed up. One night, a very reckless night mind you, Batman nearly collapsed walking through the back garden. Completely forgetting that Jason is staying there for the night once again.

Jason helped the injured Batman into the manor as Alfred and Damian were nowhere to be seen. Batman guided Jason to the Batcave as there was the medical supplies he needed. There, Batman took off his mask.

When Jason brought up, he wanted to become Robin during a dinner. Damian and Bruce both said no in the same time. Damian for not wanting a repeat of what had happened to Tim. For Bruce… he doesn’t know if he has what it takes to take in someone else. Things changed when one night, Jason didn’t stay at the manor.

Bruce got a call that Jason’s parents were both murdered, but not in the way he thought it to be. Arriving at the scene with Damian and Alfred to witness a heavily battered Jason being loaded up into an ambulance. Alfred rode on the ambulance so that Jason wasn’t alone and hopefully get some information on what had happened.

Commissioner Gordon explained to Bruce and Damian that Catherine was murdered by estranged husband before the man had put his attention to young Jason. That was when Bruce got a text from Alfred, it’s a picture of a coin with an all too familiar insignia on it… Red Hood.

Jason will later recount how during the beating, he heard several gun shots… and seeing the monster fall to the ground. Then a masked figure standing by the doorway before calling for 911 and helping him with his wounds before the cops arrived. Jason witnessed his mother getting murdered and seeing said murderer getting killed by someone else… made the teen wonder if he was lucky or unlucky in the same time.

It was at that point, Bruce decided to take in Jason as the next Robin. He didn’t want the kid to go down the wrong path after seeing what he had witnessed and had goth through that night. Training was gruesome and relentless, but worth it in the end.

Over year has gone by when they Bat Family found out that Red Hood is none other than Tim Drake… who wasn’t exactly at odds with Jason taking on the Robin mantle or mad at Bruce for taking in another kid. Tim grew somber and saw the world as black and white… and red.

Dick Grayson:

Bruce doesn’t know how he did it, but he had managed to drag all three of his boys to the circus. Some were grumbling about it, Jason and Tim, while the other one looked on with mild curiosity, Damian. Luckily for all of them, Alfred threatened he’d lock them all out of the manor if they didn’t go. It was done before. One-time Tim had unlocked a window to only see Alfred standing there with a fire extinguisher. Everyone quickly learned to fear the fire extinguisher.

When the Flying Graysons started their routine, there was tension in the air. It wasn’t of anticipation at seeing a family doing their routine in the air without a safety net. It was something else. Then when the youngest Grayson looked at one of the ropes in horror, it explained everything. The cheers and shouts didn’t allow anyone to hear John callout for Mary to not take the jump but it was too late. He caught her and she looked up to see one of the ropes began to tear under both their weights... she knew they were goners. The last thing they both looked on to see the complete horror from their son as he watched them fall to their death.

Chaos fell over.

Next thing the Bat Family knew, they were arguing on whether they should take in Dick Grayson. Many arguments were made. Pros and Cons. As they argued, they didn’t see Alfred in the background wrapping Dick with a thick blanket and giving him a stuffed animal. It wasn’t until Alfred appeared next to Bruce and informed him that CPS will be talking to him shortly about taking in the young nine-year-old Dick Grayson… who is currently sobbing in the limo.

No one dared to argue with Alfred… and it appeared they have a new kid to take care of.

Might more headcanon to this. Funny ones.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Seventy-Two: The Bazaar of Bad Dreams

I’ve made some things for you, Constant Reader; you see them laid out before you in the moonlight. But before you look at the little handcrafted treasures I have for sale, let’s talk about them for a bit, shall we? It won’t take long. Here, sit down beside me. And do come a little closer. I don’t bite. Except... we’ve known each other for a very long time, and I suspect you know that’s not entirely true. Is it? 

I first read this book back in 2016, but some of these stories made quite an impact. I’m looking at you, The Dune, Morality, and Ur. Personally, I find this the most memorable collection of short stories... even the ones that haven’t been on my mind for the past five years, I remembered them as soon as I was a few paragraphs in. Like all collections, there were some I preferred over others, but there were more hits than not in Bazaar. 

And there were a ton of nods to the Constant Reader universe:

A Locke & Key comic reference (Maybe not the Constant Reader universe, but definitely adjacent. And if you haven’t read these graphic novels- please drop everything you’re doing, and get your hands on a copy). 

Christine (still at the bottom of my list)

Castle Rock

Dark Tower/Low Men in Yellow Coats/Red eye pin

Nozzy soda (I’m assuming this Nozz-A-La) 

Andy Clutterbuck (Sheriff from Castle Rock)

Gunslinger

And Steve must have been feeling particularly cheesy, because there were 4 Wisconsin mentions! My personal favorite is the line, “...but Hubie’s on a fishing trip somewhere in Rectal Thermometer, Wisconsin...” 

Now. 

I’ve never been to Rectal Thermometer, but it sounds lovely. I bet it’s somewhere in Burnett or Washburn counties. Fishing there would be a real delight. Disclaimer: in no world to I find fishing to be a delight... regular fishing, or ice fishing, which is just a slightly deeper circle of hell. I have horrible memories of ice fishing as a kid, and stepping into a hole more than once, soaking my boot and socks. Fucking ice fishing. But I digress. 

I’ll highlight just a few stories in this collection, the first one being Herman Wouk is Still Alive. Brenda wins $2,700 off a lottery ticket, and calls her friend Jasmine, and convinces her to pack up her kids and go on a road trip. They’ll use the winnings to rent a swanky van, stay overnight in a hotel so their kids can play in the pool, and indulge in some take-out on their way to visit family. Jasmine reluctantly agrees, and the two of them pack up their seven kids. On the drive, Brenda and Jasmine share some coffee brandy, talk about how shitty their lives are, and how it doesn’t look like things are ever going to get better. Brenda takes a look in the backseat and worries about what kind of life their kids are going to have. Annnnd then she jams her foot on the gas, gets the van up to one-hundred miles per hour, and crashes the van head-on into a tree, killing all of them. 

Some events have transpired since the first time I read this story and now. Namely, the murder-suicide of the Hart family.

 I am equally disgusted, heart-broken, and fascinated by this horrible story. Jen and Sara Hart were being investigated by CPS after allegations of abuse and withholding food from their six children surfaced; and they fled their home. They drugged their kids with cough syrup, and drove off a cliff, killing everyone. This is a rabbit hole I can’t stop going down, and there’s so much to explore. If you want to join me in the rabbit hole, check out the Broken Harts podcast. Sometimes the scariest monsters are walking among us, disguised as white savior women. 

The second story I really loved was Under the Weather, which was a grittier version of A Rose for Emily. I don’t particularly love Faulkner (blasphemy for an English major, I know)- but Under the Weather was delicious in it’s depravity. Having read it a second time, I knew what the plot twist was, but that didn’t make it any less enjoyable. 

The final story I really enjoyed was Ur. The story is quaint in that it was set in a time when digital readers and Kindle apps on phones were not as common as they are now. Amazon actually reached out to Steve to have him write a story about a Kindle, and it’s so perfectly Steve. I mean... where else would you encounter a Kindle that connects to alternate timelines, full of stories authors in this timeline never published, and the Low Men need to come and confiscate it? It’s got some fun Dark Tower Easter eggs, and makes you wonder if traditional books might just be safer after all. 

Speaking of which, my Kindle Fire decided to stop downloading books. It still performs every other function just fine, but won’t download anything I purchase off the Kindle store. So, I found a great deal on a Paperwhite, and bought one. Y’all... I hate it. The only advantage to the Paperwhite is the only thing I can do on it is read. I’m not distracted by emails or Facebook messages. But I hate the screen resolution, I hate how slow it moves, I hate that it will accidentally flip four pages at a time... I don’t love it. Maybe this challenge has spoiled me in that I really do love real books after all. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 46

Total Dark Tower References: 68

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

Doctor Sleep: A+

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

11/22/63: A+

Mr. Mercedes: A+

Under the Dome: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Full Dark, No Stars: A+

The Bazaar of Bad Dreams: A+

Just After Sunset: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

Stephen King Goes to the Movies: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Blaze: B+

Hard Listening: B+

Revival: B+

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Joyland: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

The Wind Through the Keyhole: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers D

Next up is Finders Keepers, the second book in the Bill Hodge’s trilogy. I finished it this morning because there’s a blizzard outside, and I refuse to leave my house to go to work. Ah, the joys of Midwest living. Maybe I’m in Rectal Thermometer, Wisconsin after all. 

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights, Rebecca

[hoodnaito]

hiromu v. dragon lee, ON SIGHT in osaka prefecture: bosj25 thoughts and prayers.

i was lost for a minute after the fourth no-sell deadlift german. thoughts raced through my mind, wait no, doubts raced through my mind. the crowd was there and polite for other matches but they came alive when Dragon Lee emerged. they showed so much love when hiromu came out. it was going to be a beautiful day. hiromu would bounce back from the lost to el desperado. there’s no way he could emerge from this match with only two points and catch up to Dragon Lee. 

is that a cloud? 

that match was fucking ridiculous. meltzer is right, it’s not the best match they’ve ever had. i remember the first match i ever saw of theirs, back when hiromu was kaimatachi. I was told i had to give this kaimatachi dude a chance. shit was reckless. violent. an exhibition of how much neither of these dudes give a fuck after the bell rings. you can tell either by blood or by association they fucking breathe this ingobernable shit. you saw the soccer ball sail into the crowd, you saw the tranquilo pose in the middle of the ring. if not for this beautiful rivalry and dragon lee’s babyface reputation, i’d love to see those two really tear up tag divisions across the world. golden lovers. young bucks. all 12 shaolin monks from OVE. they’d destroy them all. 

but nah, they’re made to wow audiences across the world. i’m not sure why i felt sad when hiromu lost. they had one hell of a match that i actually went out of my way not to spoil beforehand. i’m not sure if i would’ve been happy to watch it if i knew the result, but what a stupid thought, right? it was worth my NJPWworld subscription alone. it wasn’t the most picture perfect day, but i’ll settle with a good comeback story. 

BUSHI, Hiromu and Naito met up with Tokyo Sports at the family restaurant where they discussed the BOSJ25 so far. at that point, BUSHI had lost his first three matches for the third year in a row. he said he wanted to channel Naito’s 5-4 G1 climax victory. after ditching the check and sticking Tokyo Sports with the bill, BUSHI came away with more than just hamburger steak. after that interview he beat the IWGP champion Will Ospreay. regardless if he doesn’t get another win for the remainder of the tournament, he has staked his claim to a rematch for that title. of course taiji ishimori will have something to say about who goes first. 

the road is still wide open for all competitors in the tournament. tiger mask and flip gordon are overperforming to everyone’s surprise, while Dragon Lee soars to the top of b block like he belongs there. this week’s matches will show a little more urgency, a little more desperation, a little more joy and a little more sadness. every night we’ll pour one out for someone eliminated. but that final at korakuen will be something to see for sure. 

best of the best of the super juniors so far mixtape

ishimori vs. ospreay, night one

dragon lee vs. sho, night two

takahashi vs. scurll, night two

taguchi vs. dragon lee, night four

ospreay vs. yoh, night five

dragon lee vs. hiromu, night six

bushi vs. ospreay, night seven

I still have to catch up on night eight before the next batch of VODs get released. 

realistically, i’d like to see an ishimori/dragon lee final. it would suck seeing hiromu not get the nod at Dominion but only Gedo gets what he wants.

flip gordon makes it too easy for people to hate on him. i don’t dislike him like a lot of people do for his stupid flat earth tweets or that kip up he does that draws nuclear heat from those who don’t want to watch him on a hard cam in the first place. but i see the positive in flip. thanks to the young bucks and cody, he’s more relevant than ever and a 6 point run during the BOSJ is a good result if the tournament was over...we still have another full week! i wouldn’t mind seeing him pop in every once in a while.

ach wins the best BOSJ twitter award. he has fans at delta airlines, he wears dragon ball z masks and he’s having a blast. he was one of my guesses as to who would be the final three announced for BOSJ25 and i’m glad he’s cleaning up. even though he didn’t make it in the mixtape, i appreciate the homie. 

---

dubdubyaeee sent me one of their surveys. shitted on em. i DID big up live attendance network specials with the selfish hope they do another beast from the east joint and show that smackdown four way main event between aj styles, shinsuke nakamura, samoa joe and THE HOMIE: daniel bryan. i just want all four of em to walk out to biggie’s “juicy” because they all deserve to walk into a sold out sumo hall and rock it for the crowd. i would just love to be able to witness it.

i hope kairi sane and asuka are on the tour too. there’s been too much made of their current booking situations being complete failures. i get that joshi fans who also watch the WWE want to see them own their divisions and be showcased to the best of the WWE’s ability.  getting pinned by Lacey Evans isn’t exactly the best of the WWE’s ability, so i feel you...however kairi sane is still the first ever MYC winner. asuka might be screwed out of winning the smackdown title from carmella at money in the bank, but she’s still the first women’s royal rumble winner, still was undefeated for hella days and still SLAPPED RONDA ROUSEY’S HAND AWAY. io shirai (maybe mayu too?) will be just fine.

i wonder what the venn diagram of people who showed up to the enzo shit in time’s square yesterday and those who voted for trump in 2016. is it just a circle? who’s baby was that? should we call CPS? 

finally saw la parka/volador jr/flyer vs. RUSH/bestia/terrible shit was dope. that could go on the mixtape too as like an interlude. i wonder if production needed anything that was in that suitcase la parka broke over Rush. i love how tenative meltzer, alvarez and dr. lucha sound when they talk about la parka vs. rush. everyone expects it to go to shit but i think ultimately everyone is hoping they have a successful hair vs. mask match. you should’ve heard arena mexico though man, shit was live as hell. la parka had the crowd rollin all night. rush and pierroth had the crowd booing so hard, it was wild. exceptional night of action, luchablog homie says they may have gone over 10K at arena mexico. just hold on through the summer and the cmll anniversary show will be one to remember.

listening to:

joe budden podcast, radio strong style podcast, jay rock - “win”, anderson paak - “bubblin”, pusha t - DAYTONA. 

thoughts and prayers to lyin ted cruz. 

[myheartbelongstowallywest]

Orphans

A fic for @ghostjasontodd for @batfam-christmas-stocking

Word Count: 921

Jason paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkened alley. He could make out two prone forms lying about a hundred feet in front of him, but couldn’t see if there were any threats lurking farther back. He listened hard before stepping forward, walking to the bodies with a hand on the gun at his waist. Upon reaching the bodies he crouched low, checking them for pulses. Neither had one. He rocked back on his heels, cursing at the loss. Further investigation revealed them to be a Mrs. and Mr. Whitfield from out near the manor. What were they doing here in one of the worst parts of Gotham?

Jason pushed a button on his comm to call GCPD. A hassled sounding clerk picked up.

“Two bodies. On Adams St. across from the M line subway station.” He reached up and terminated the call just as the clerk began to ask for his name. His gaze returned to the bodies.

What was that?

Jason shot to his feet, pulling out his gun. It sounded like someone was standing farther back in the alley. He advanced slowly, head swinging side to side. He reached the back without spotting anyone, maybe he had been mistaken. He turned around to return to the bodies and noticed a small shape nearly behind one of the trashcans.

What was a child doing here?

He holstered his gun and crouched low. He did his best to make himself appear unthreatening before approaching the small figure, but they were still shaking by the time he stopped in front of them.

“Hey,” he leaned forward slight, searching for their eyes. “You’re okay now. I’m not going to hurt you.” He reached out tentatively, waiting for them to grasp his hand.

“You look like them.” A small voice whispered.

“Do I?” He asked. They nodded vigorously. “Who were they?”

“I don’t know.” They sniffled and curled tighter around themself.

“That’s okay, sweetie. They’re gone now.”

“Are you sure?” They asked, peering around the trashcan. Jason shifted to block their view of the bodies.

“You don’t want to look at that.” Jason say their eyes well up anew.

“My parents…” They began to sob. Jason’s heart broke.

“Come on,” he leaned forward with his arms outstretched, wanting to give the kid an opportunity to reject his touch. They just rushed forward into his arms. He smiled sadly, ruffling their hair. “Let’s get you out of here.” He shifted the child to free a hand and pressed his fingers his comm. “Nightwing?” Dick’s crackling voice responded.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Jason almost rolled his eyes.

“Not the time. I need your help.”

“Well that’s a first. What with?” Dick asked.

“On the rooftop of that building on Adams street across from the subway station.”

“Be there in five.”

Jason took one last look at the bodies on the ground, keeping a hold on the back of the kid’s head to ensure they didn’t see. He shook his head; this whole goddamn city was an orphanage.

Moments later he was up on the rooftop, gently setting the kid on the ground next to him. He slid down to sit and wait. The child didn’t say anything before slithering into his lap and curling up against him, pulling on his jacket like a blanket. He blinked, unsure of what to do next. He settled for slowly rubbing circles on their back, hoping they might fall asleep. Luckily, Dick showed up seconds later. Jason let out a sigh of relief, thank goodness.

“You called?” Dick looked confused. He probably couldn’t see the kid in Jason’s lap.

Jason slowly peeled away one of the flaps of his jacket and pointed down at the child, hoping Dick would understand.

“Ah, I see. What happened?” He approached carefully, and settled down directly across from Jason.

“Gotham happened.” He explained succinctly, still absentmindedly rubbing the kid’s back. Dick nodded.

“Did you call Gordon?” He asked.

“He got the message.” Dick looked like he was about to glare at Jason, but thought better of it.

“Okay, well someone ought to go wait for him.” He moved to stand up. Jason grabbed his wrist.

“But what about-“ he gestured at the now sleeping child. He’d expected Dick to take over upon arrival. Dick chuckled quietly.

“Looks like you’re doing just fine to me.” He freed himself from Jason’s grasp and leapt off the rooftop, heading down into the alley to wait on the GCPD. “One more thing.” His voice erupted in Jason’s ear. “You should probably hang around, Gordon’s going to want to talk to the kid.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Fucking Gotham. He scooped the kid back into his arms, too antsy to stay still, and began pacing up and down the rooftop.

Hours later, Jason was still holding the child. Still slightly shocked he had told Gordon he’d take the child to the station himself. Gordon had quipped that they didn’t need another bat running around Gotham and told him to be punctual.

He wandered up and down the streets of Gotham, all the while taking care not to wake the slumbering kid in his arms. Eventually, he turned for the police station, unable to pinpoint why it had taken him so long.

Gordon was waiting for him with someone from CPS on hand. They took the child from him with no ceremony. Just a nod of understanding, and a look of defeat. He wondered how often they did this. He almost didn’t hear the child speak.

“Thank you, mister.”  

[bighousela]

Free VIP Day passes to our full days film screenings available to all whom register for this free event with Gerry Fialka, The list of films screening will be available as the films are selected to screen, updates to film blocks screening at the festival social media pages, and website:

https://www.facebook.com/filmfestla/

https://www.instagram.com/bighousela

https://www.filmfestlalive.com/

Nov 7th. Sat "Film Fest La & L.A. LIVE" presents FILM CAN'T KILL YOU BUT WHY TAKE A CHANCE from 3:00 P.M. to 6:00 P.M. at Regal Cinemas 1000 W Olympic Blvd, LA CA 90015, Info: 310-306-7330 Laughtears.com Free workshop and day passes sponsored by BigHouse-la.com Paramedia ecologist Gerry Fialka's fun interactive workshop explore cinema's hidden psychic effects via Marshall McLuhan's Menippean satirized percepts: "We shape our tools, then they shape us." and “The Balinese have no word for art, they do everything as well as they can.” and "How about technologies as the collective unconscious and art as the collective unconsciousness?" Delve deep into Live Cinema, Neurocinema and the metaleptic heart of movies. Read the OtherZine article: sticks-and-stones-may-break-your-bones-but-film-will-never-hurt-you.Gerry Fialka has been praised by the LA Times as "the multi-media Renaissance man." The La Weekly proclaimed him "a cultural revolutionary." His new book Strange Questions: Experimental Film as Conversation, with a foreword by David James will be published soon. His new feature The Brother Side of the Wake (BroSide) is the experimental documentary about the people of Venice, California. It probes the cliché: "Is the journey more important than the destination?" Watch the preview on Youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBj0UdpFEWo

Laughtears Press is proud to announce the new book,

Strange Questions: Experimental Film as Conversation

by Gerry Fialka, Edited by Rachael Kerr, Foreword by David James.Publication date: SoonContact: Gerry Fialka

310.307.7330

pfsuzy@aol.com

http://laughtears.com/

Compelling interviews with notables in avant-garde cinema offer insights into moving image art--its creative processes, formative influences, and hidden psychic effects. Through interviews with George Manupelli, Chick Strand, Tom Gunning, Lynne Sachs, Jay Rosenblatt, Martha Colburn, Evan Meaney, Mike Hoolboom, Robert Nelson, and Nina Menkes,

Strange Questions

links powerful personal stories with the contemporary media-scape.

Questions addressed in this collection include:

What role does the audience play in the creative process?

Can art-making be egoless?

Is perception reality?

What is the role of intention in the creative process?

What counts as storytelling? Are experimental filmmakers telling stories a different way or doing something completely different?

What was the motive of the cave artists?

What is more important: conviction or compromise?

Is ambition based more on fear or joy?

+++++++++++++++++

Accolades from award-winning experimental filmmakers:

"Fialka is a damn good interviewer. His questions are sometimes so precise that it tickles and sometimes so grand and thought provoking that one feels on the edge of a new spiritual awareness." --Lynne Sachs

"Fialka asks unexpected Questions about important Ideas, eliciting Answers that can surprise even those doing the answering. My Interview with him taught me something about myself; it was a Gift." --David Gatten"Fialka's was the funniest interview I have ever had. He has developed a very wise way of triggering thoughts in the interviewee." --Leighton Pierce"Fialka's interview had me buzzing inside with thoughts and memories that his engaging questions set in motion. Super stimulation." --Larry Gottheim"I thank Gerry Fialka so much. I really enjoyed his interview with me, especially his unjaded joie de vivre, hearty laugh, and endless pursuit of knowledge sparked by social curiosity." --Phil Solomon."Gerry Fialka is a master interviewer. Working out of his natural sympathies and his erudition, Gerry cannily and cheerfully guides his interviewees along a path of Socratic inquiry that goes far deeper than the average Q & A and possibly deeper than the interviewee thought himself/herself capable of going. With Gerry at the helm, the journey really is about the destination and not just the journeying." --Fred Worden"Fialka is a meteor shower in the contemporary media arts discourse. He's blowing my mind." -- Craig Baldwin

++++++++++++++

Gerry Fialka, artist, writer, and para-media ecologist, lectures on experimental film, avant-garde art, and subversive social media at NYU, USC, UCLA, Cal Arts and MIT. He has been called "the multi-media Renaissance man" by the

Los Angeles Times

and "a cultural revolutionary" by the

LA Weekly.

Fialka's interviews have been published in books by Mike Kelley and Sylvere Lotringer. They have been heard on Pacifica KPFK radio, and have appeared in magazines:

Canyon Cinema, OtherZine, CineSource,

Artillery,

AMASS magazine, LA Jazz Scene, Jazz News,

Bird, Flipside, Venice BeachHead.

"Gerry Fialka is Los Angeles' preeminent underground film curator." - Robin Menken, CinemaWithoutBorders

Rachael Kerr is a filmmaker, writer, and researcher. She is a 2017 graduate of the University of Michigan Department of Screen Arts and Cultures. As a student she collaborated on the feature documentary

The Big House

, now slated for theatrical release in Japan. In Winter 2017, Rachael was part of a UM course taught be Terri Sarris and supported by the University's Bicentennial Committee, which explored the AAFF's long relationship to the University.

David E. James has written or edited a dozen books on avant-garde cinema and other forms of non-commodity culture, especially in Los Angeles. His latest publication is

Rock ‘N’ Film: Cinema’s Dance With Popular Music

(2016). His films have screened at the Whitney Museum of American Art, the Los Angeles Filmforum, and Canyon Cinema in San Francisco.

+++++++++++++

SoonSunday 7pm at Beyond Baroque

681 Venice Blvd Venice CA

FREE Admission

MOM - Movie Or Manuscript on Mother's Day -

Celebrate the publication of Gerry Fialka's new book

Strange Questions: Experimental Film as Conversation

http://laughtears.com/strange-questions.html

and

his new feature film

The Brother Side of the Wake (test screening). Facebook=

https://www.facebook.com/events/173605590088661/

VIEW Youtube Clips=

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NlhspvI86Z8

&

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vso1cEAUYRs

LilyCat Radio Show - Gerry talks about both book and film -

https://archive.org/details/20180225LilycatGerry

+++++++++++++

Upcoming volumes in the

Strange Questions

book series:

Experimental Film as Conversation, Continued.

This volume includes interviews with filmmakersDavid Gatten, Frank Mouris, P. Adams Sitney, tENTATIVELY a cONVENIENCE, Bill Brand, Pip Chodoov, Craig Baldwin, Bill Morrison, Braden King, Naomi Uman, John Smith, Patrick Turrant, Madison Brookshire, Tony Gault, Bill Daniel, Vera Brunner Sung, Alexandra Cuesta, Tooth, Fred Worden, Mark Street, Leslie Raymond, Jason Jay Stevens, Ben Russell, Bryan Konefsky, Owen Land, Peter Rose, Alfonzo Alvarez, Jesse Lerner, Terri Sarris, Chris McNamara, Oren Goldenberg, Jesse Drew, Roger Bebe, Jon Jost, Betsy Bromberg, Thom Anderson and more.

Michigan Aesthetics as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with Mike Kelley, George Clinton, Sam Green, Jack Epps Jr, Grace Lee Boggs, Marshall Crenshaw, Ari Weinzweig (Zingerman's), Steve 'Muruga' Booker, John Sinclair, and Mary Jane Shoultz.

Venice Aesthetics as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with

Venice artists

Rip Cronk, Earl Newman, and Carol Fondiller.

Art as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with artists William Pope.L, Alexis Smith, Hunter Drohojowska-Philp, George Herms, Doug Harvey, Winston Smith, and Robert Branaman.

Poetry as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with poets Amiri Baraka, SA Griffin, Suzanne Lummis, ruth weiss, Linda Albertano, Les Plesko, Harry Northrup, and David Meltzer.

Political Activism

as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with political activists Grace Lee Boggs, Tom Hayden, Haskell Wexler, Bill Ayers, Skip Blumberg, Jon Rappoport, Lila Garrett, and Marcy Winograd.

Jazz as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with musicians Horace Silver, Jon Hendricks, Annie Ross, Oscar Brown Jr, Hadda Brooks, David Amram, Perry Robinson, Theo Sanders, and jazz writers Kirk Silsbee and Greg Burk.

Literature as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with writers Eric McLuhan, John Bishop, Chris Kraus, Kristine McKenna, Janet Fitch, Brad Schreiber, and Johanna Drucker.

Comedy as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with comedians Paul Krassner, Ric Overton, Paul Provenza, David Misch, Roy Zimmerman, Wes Skoop Nisker, Lady Lord Buckley, and Darryl Henriques.

Rock N' Roll as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with musicians Mac Rebennack (aka Dr John), Pamela Des Barres, Steve Vai, Van Dyke Parks, Barry Smolin, Bruce Langhorn, Jeff Mosier, Roger Steffans, Paul Zollo, Billy Vera, Del Casher, Baby Gramps and John French.

Avant Garde Music as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with musicians DJ Spooky, Carl Stone, Patrick Gleeson, David Ocker, Blue Gene Tyranny, Frank Pahl, and Veronika Krausas.

Documentary Film as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with documentary filmmakers Ondi Timoner, Marina Goldovskaya, Rodney Ascher, Jay Weidner, Tiffany Shlain, Mary Jordan, William Farley, Chris Felver, Chris Metzler, Stan Warnow, and Jon Alloway.

Performance Art as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with performance artists Ann Magnuson, Heather Woodbury, Gordon Winiemko, Joseph Keckler, Mark Pauline, and Ed Holmes (aka Bishop Joey).

Dance as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with dancers Simon Forti and Rudy Perez.

Hollywood as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with Hollywood people James Harris, Orson Bean, Timothy A. Carey, Mews Small, Abraham Polonsky, Jeremy Kagan, Jay Cassidy, Steve DeJarnatt, and Steve Fife.

Animation as Conversation.

This volume includes interviews with animators Bruce Bickford, Karl Krogstad,and Gary Schwartz.

++++++This first book is the beginning of a 22-volume series.Upcoming

Strange Questions

will cover:More Experimental Film as ConversationMichigan Aesthetics as ConversationVenice, California Aesthetics as Conversation

Art as ConversationPoetry as ConversationPolitical Activism as ConversationJazz as ConversationLiterature as ConversationComedy as ConversationRock 'n' Roll as ConversationAvant-Garde Music as ConversationDocumentary Film as ConversationPerformance Art as ConversationDance as ConversationHollywood as ConversationAnimation as ConversationMedia Ecology as Conversation

Sculpture as ConversationPhotography as ConversationLive Cinema as Conversation

Gaming & Coding: Information Technology as Conversation

[hellsbellssinclub]

Park Row General Hospital. Part 3.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Ao3

Myra talks to a Cat and makes a deal.

Myra sat in her car at eleven fifty-three and wondered if she was really stupid enough to do this.

While Catwoman was more of the calmer and less volatile of Gotham City’s rogues, Myra knew full well that the woman was extremely dangerous and could easily kill her if provoked.

That being said, Myra was ninety four percent sure that she would not die tonight. It was not in the Cat’s nature to kill when it was not necessary.

With that slightly cheerful thought in mind, Myra got out of her old, beat up car and locked the door behind her. She took her time walking up to the correct apartment, paying close attention to the camera’s and to everything around her. While she trusted that Hood was not leading her into a trap, one can never be too cautious in Gotham.

Coming to the right door, Myra closed her eyes and took a low deep breath before knocking on the wood. There was a long minute of silence before a beautiful woman with short dark hair and sharp eyes opened the door.

“Hmm. You must be the doctor that Hood spoke of.” The woman’s voice was low and playful and there was a tiny smile playing on her lips.

“Doctor Myra Savage.” Myra held out her hand and hoped she looked professional in her discount Kmart clothing and worn shoes. “I am the director of the Park Row General Hospital.”

The Cat looked at her hand and for a moment, Myra thought that she wouldn’t take it. But the rogue grabbed her hand in a firm grip. “I do hope you are not looking for donations from little old me.” The woman smiled and let go of her hand.

Myra gave a quirk of her lips. “Not donations no. But if you would like to make one I would be more than happy to accept it.”

The Cat raised an eyebrow. “Oh? If it is not money you are after, Doctor Savage, then what is it that you seek from me?”

Taking a deep breath, gave a tired smile. “May we speak inside?” She asked, not wanting to have this conversation overheard. For both her and Catwoman’s sakes.

The rogue looked at her with narrowed eyes before shrugging. “Very well. Come in.” The Cat gave a sweeping gesture with her arm in an almost mock welcome.

Myra payed no mind to the theatrics. They were both from Gotham after all. And if there was anything Gotham could be known for it was their theatrics. And for being territorial about their homes. She would not be surprised if Catwoman abandoned this place in the next week now that Myra had been inside.

The apartment was warm and cosy, Myra noted. Comfortable furniture. Quick escape routes with the windows. A functioning kitchen. It looked like a decent home. The only bad thing Myra could honestly say about the place was there was a faint scent of cats in the air, though Myra could not see any at the moment. Catwoman was well known for taking in stray cats and was said to have several in her home. Myra waited for the door to close before turning around and looking at the other woman again.

“So, what is so important that you must speak to me in my home?” The rogue glared, arms crossed against her chest.

“I am sorry for intruding like this.” Myra started, pulling out the documents for her Children’s Wish program. “But I thought it would be better for both of us if we didn’t speak of this out in the open, mainly so both of our reputations remained as they are.”

Catwoman raised an eyebrow once again at her. “You need me to steal something for you?” There was a small degree of amusement in the rogue’s voice. Myra was not surprised that the other woman came to that conclusion. After all, why else would anyone try and talk to the Catwoman in private.

“No.” Myra said firmly with a shake of her head. “Do you know anything about the Children’s Wish Program?” She asked, holding the papers in her hand tightly.

The other woman tilted her head. “Vaguely. Is that where children meet their fictional heroes or have Nightwing come and play with them?”

Myra snorted. That was a pretty good guess. “More or less. The program grants last wishes and the such to sick and or dying children. One of the children currently in my care has asked if you could visit her.” Myra did not mention the child’s name nor anything else. While she knew that Catwoman would not harm the girl, this was Gotham and you never know who is listening.

Catwoman stiffened slightly and her eyes narrowed. “Is this some kind of trap? Make me go to your hospital and then have Gordon arrest me?” She hissed, making Myra shake her head and sigh.

“No trap or trick. Just a little six-year-old who wants to meet her… hero I guess is the best word to use? She recently had her leg removed because of gangrene. In a weeks’ time, CPS is taking her to a relative’s house. I promised her I would try and give her whatever wish she had before she left.” Myra paused for a moment. “She requested that she meet you. If you don’t wish to do this, it is fine. I will ask her to request something else and will do my best to give her that instead.”

Catwoman relaxed slightly, but her eyes were still narrowed and her jaw looked to be clenched. “And what would you give me in return? I do have a reputation to uphold you know.”

Myra’s lips quirked. That wasn’t an outright no. “I can’t offer you money. Nearly everything I earn goes back into the hospital. We are currently low on supplies so I cannot offer you those.” Myra let out a small sigh. “I can offer my services as a doctor though. Free of charge and no questions asked.”

That seemed to gain the Cat’s full attention. “There are underground doctor’s available you know.”

That made Myra smirk. “And how many of them can be trusted not to take your organs or to not experiment on you? Not to mention the cost of them not only operating on you but also keeping quiet about even treating you?” She pointed out.

Catwoman hummed and tapped her finger to her chin. “How many times would your services be available for? Hypothetically of course.”

Myra gave a small shrug. “Five times free. No questions or payments. If you still want me as your doctor after that, then you will need to make a small donation to the hospital or possibly see another child that has requested you.” Myra hoped the offer would be enough to get the other woman to agree.

The Cat let out another hum and smiled slightly. “How much is a small donation?”

“Fifty dollars to a hundred, depending on how serious your wounds are.” She stated firmly. Those were rather cheap prices, seeing as in most hospitals (or even walk in clinics), it costs around fifty dollars to even see someone to tell you that ‘yes, you do have a cold. Have some cold medicine and sleep.’

The only places that were cheap and or free to see a doctor in Gotham was Myra’s hospital and Lee Thompkins’ clinic. And that was only because they both took money out of their own pockets to do make it so. Neither of them were given much in terms of funding after all.

Once again, Bruce Wayne’s endless pockets and generosity was a lifesaver.

Catwoman seemed to weigh up the pros and cons for a few minutes before she nodded. “Hmm, five free doctor visits and a promise of cheap visits after? That is a decent deal.” The other woman gave a small smirk. “Who will I be seeing, Doc?”

Myra smiled brightly at the rogue and handed over the papers. “Her name is Cindy.”

“Cindy…” The rogue looked through the papers with quick moving eyes. “When do you want me to see her? And is there…. any rules to this?” She handed back the papers, obviously memorised everything already. A good skill to have in this City.

“In the next two days would be good.” Myra folded the papers back up and put them back into her back pocket. “And as for rules…” She sighed. “No weapons. No swearing. No attacking anyone. Be nice to all the children and staff. You don’t have to worry about the police, they rarely come to the hospital. Please don’t start any fights.” She rattled off the rules she gave any visiting hero or rogue visiting the hospital.

“Simple rules.” Catwoman tilted her head.

“They are the rules for any visiting rogue or hero.” Myra stated. “And I hope you are better at following them then Superman was.”

“Didn’t dear old Superman nearly destroy your hospital?” Catwoman seemed to almost laugh.

Myra glared at the other woman. “Yes. He did. And he is never, ever coming near my hospital again.”

Catwoman did laugh at that. “And what would you do to stop him?” She asked.

“I will make a few calls and get myself a Kryptonite bullet and shot the damned alien.” Myra said with a blank face. The other woman lost her amusement quickly at Myra’s words. “I take the safety of my hospital and patients seriously.”

The Cat narrowed her eyes and her shoulder’s stiffened at the said threat. “I am sure you do, Doctor Savage. I will give you a call and let you know when I will come in.”

Myra gave a small, professional smile that she perfected after years of working as a check out chick as a teenager. “I look forward to it. Thank you very much for doing this. Cindy is going to be so happy to see you.”

“I am sure.” The other woman gestured at the door. “See you soon, Doc.”

Myra just continued to smile. “See you soon, Cat.” She said as she walked out the door with her head held high. She walked down the corridors and down to where her car was, holding her breath slightly.

As soon as she was out of the building, Myra let out a low curse to herself. That had not been easy. Nor pleasant. Meeting rogues and villains had been a lot easier and a lot less terrifying when she was in her twenties.

She was getting too old to be playing these games. Forty-five was not an age to be going about and making deal with Gotham City’s rogues.

Well, at the very least she has managed to convince Catwoman to come and visit Cindy. Myra just hopes they won’t have another Superman incident again.

[heyitsani]

Sneak Peek Saturday?

I missed WIP Wednesday because life and toddlers don’t always mix with writing.  So here’s a sneak peek for Saturday!

This is from my Food Truck AU where Jason is a food truck owner and Dick is a GCPD officer.  The piece is soooooooo close to being done, but I’ve been trying to get my @dickgraysonexchange2020 and @dcubang fics finished up.  

It’s also longer than most because I like this scene and this particular fic is already over 6k and I probably have a good 2k left to type up.

Here is the link for the other pieces from this series.

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jim?”  Dick called out as he knocked and pushed open the door to Commissioner Gordon’s office.  The older man looked over his shoulder from where he sat in the chairs usually reserved for the visitors of his office, his bad to the entrance. Dick could see the top of a bowed head of dark hair over his shoulder but focused on his boss.

“Great, Dick.  Come on in.  Close the door.”  Gordon stood and revealed a teenager who sat slouched forward, face buried in his hands. Sending Jim a questioning look, Dick shut the door behind him before walking further into the office and slipping his hands into the pockets of his black slacks.  “Duke, this is the man I was telling you about.”  The teen seemed to take a shuddering breath before lifting his head and turning red rimmed eyes onto Dick.  “Dick this is Duke Thomas, and I have a bit of a situation on my hands that I think you’re the best to help with.”

“I’ll help however I can, sir,” Dick replied before he moved closer to Duke.  Crouching down, Dick got eye level with Duke and looked into his golden brown eyes while giving him a small smile.  “It’s nice to meet you Duke.”  The teen said nothing, but nodded before dropping his gaze down to his hands that now rested in his lap.  Frowning, Dick looked up at Gordon and waited for some kind of reason for this meeting.

“Duke’s parents were declared missing last night and we’ve run into a bit of a housing situation.”  Rising to stand again, Dick remained silent while his boss explained how there were no openings at any of the orphanages and that the juvenile center was the only place who could take him.  Unless someone could be deemed an emergency foster home. And that explained why Dick was there.

It also made him aware that he was most likely going to be canceling on Jason.

He had taken the time two years ago to file as an emergency option for kids who were temporarily homeless and had no other place to go.  As of that exact moment, he had housed three kids for one night each as Child Services worked to find a more permanent solution.  And since Gordon was an officer when Dick had lost his parents and ended up in the juvenile center because all of the orphanages wouldn’t take someone like him, his boss was well aware he wouldn’t want any kid to go there if he had an opening in his home.

“I see,” Dick responded to Gordon before he took the chair one space away from Duke, giving the teen space so he didn’t feel pressured.  “Duke, I have had three other kids stay with me in the past.  Each one only stayed a single night; just enough time to let CPS do their thing.  Jim calls me in these situations because as a kid, I was placed into the juvenile center and I will never stand by and allow another kid go there when I can help.”

Duke looked up at Dick and the older man smiled at him, trying to seem open and welcoming.

“How old are you, Duke?”

“Seventeen.”  A year older than Damian.  And about to age out of a system he’s about to go into.  That was problematic.

“Do you want to come stay with me until we can find you a more permanent place to live?”

“I won’t have to go to the center?”

“No.  You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you need to.” Dick watched him look over at Gordon before he looked back to Dick and gave a small, but thankful smile.  

“Duke, I need to chat with Dick about a couple of things and have him sign some papers before you leave. You can stay here and we’ll be just next door in the spare office.”  Dick rose to his feet and nodded at Duke, who was still watching him, before following Gordon out of the office.

“You could have told me over the phone,” Dick commented as soon as the door was shut.  “I would have canceled my plans before coming here.  Or at least given him a heads up.”

“I know, but the kid has been with me since we picked him up late last night.  I took him everywhere trying to find someplace for him.” Sighing, Dick pulled out his cell phone and looked at the time.  He might catch Jason before he leaves.  “Go ahead and make the call while I grab the paperwork.”  

Dick didn’t bother responding as he pulled up Jason’s contact and let the phone dial.

“I’m leaving in like two minutes, please don’t tell me I’m late.”  He couldn’t help but laugh at the other man, knowing full well that Jason was aware of the time.

“About that…”

“You got called into work again?!”  Jason groaned and Dick winced.  They had rescheduled too many dates recently because the precinct was understaffed, and Dick could never say no when Gordon called.  “You need a day off Dick.  You’re working yourself into the ground.  You fell asleep during sex two nights ago!”

“I was called into work, but not to actually work.”

“Okay?  What the hell does that mean?”

Sitting on the edge of the empty desk in the office next to Gordon’s, Dick looked out the wall of windows. “Remember how I told you I’m one of the few emergency foster parents available in the city?”  Jason grunted in response.  “There’s a seventeen-year-old kid and his parents are missing.  All of the homes are full, and the only other place is the juvenile center.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”  Sighing, Dick dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes.  “I can’t say no, Jay.  I know I haven’t told you much about the space of time between my parents and Bruce, but it’s ugly.  And I can’t let another kid go through that.  The same racist piece of shit is still running it and I won’t subject this kid to that.”  There was silence on the other end for a moment before Jason’s voice came back, softer.

“What can I do?  Do you have food?  Want me to go set up the spare room?”  And damnit if these questions didn’t just cement the fact that Dick was well on his way to being in love with this man.

“I don’t deserve you. But if you could do a food shop? I’m going to ask the kid what he likes to eat and I can send you a list?”

“You are such an idiot, Dickie.  You don’t even see the amazing person the rest of us do.”  Dick scoffed and rolled his eyes, but was glad Jason couldn’t see the blush that was spreading over his cheeks.  “But yeah, send me the list and I’ll get on it.”

“Thanks, Jay.”

“Anything for you.  You let me know if I can do anything else.” Dick confirmed and said a soft goodbye just as Gordon walked back into the office with a stack of papers in hand.