The Flight

by vici_diem (orphan_account)

Summary:

Growing up in the streets, you and Jason Todd used to be best friends. However, things turn to sour which resulted to the both of you going on separate ways. 9 years later, something happened that brought him to you.

Notes:

9 years ago, somewhere in Gotham.

Chapter 1: Prologue

“You! You say one thing, he says another, and everybody changes back again!”, James Dean’s character, Jim Stark, shouted from the wide screen. Though you could bet on everything you own that no one is paying attention.These people are probably already too busy either trying to swallow each other’s faces or snoring like a pig.The thought itself made you roll your eyes.

“I really find it interesting how even the simplest things could tick you off.” Jason commented from his driver’s seat. When he suggested to watch a drive-in movie, you immediately jumped at the idea, thinking that it’d be like how it was in the ‘60s. The crowd, the youth, all enjoying the film and then making out halfway like nobody’s business.

But it seems that you had forgotten one important detail as you were getting ready to sneak out of the foster home a few moments ago, which is that: it is no longer the ‘60s. In fact, it is probably just your shitty luck that you are born into an era where being young is more of a burden. And to top it off, you are placed into the foster care system at a very young age after being found abandoned on the side of the road with your older brother. It is one of the things that you and Jason could relate, being what they call a ‘street rat’.

“I swear, you look like a character who just stepped out of The Godfather. You’d be giving Bruce a run for his money.” he taunted. Unsurprisingly, one of Jason’s favourite things to do is also to make you mad. But tonight’s not the time.

“Who are you planning to kill now?” he asked, his expression turning into a familiar mischievous one that made you sometimes wonder whether Bruce knows who exactly he is adopting. Although he may seem cheerful and annoying on the outside like most guys his age, he harbours a rage for something that if unleashed, could cause irreparable damage. It is one of the reasons why you had been attracted to him in the first place.

“You’re crazy, go watch the movie.” you playfully push at his shoulder, pretending to shake it off as a joke even though there’s something about his question that jabs constantly at your brain. You’re not sure if this constant ‘jab’ would be considered as being tempted to take up on his suggestion for murder, or just a plain worry for your oldest best friend.

“Listen, there’s a reason why I’ve brought you here all of a sudden.” he said, though his eyes are focused on the movie.

“Is this because Bruce is bringing you to one of his business trips again?” you guessed, looking down at your restless clammy hands, your fidgeting knees, wondering how you should tell him.

“No there’s just something you need to know…” he answered but you can’t hold it in anymore, so you cut him off by telling him, “I know you’re Robin.”

You turn to face him only to find your best friend staring at you back with wide-shock eyes. An unfamiliar expression for a 16-year-old ‘street rat’ like Jason Todd. But then again, he had seen so much in his life that only little things could shock him. This is one of them.

Given his frozen state of shock, you decided to ease his struggle by quickly explaining, “I saw you putting on your mask in the alleyway that night before you disappeared for days. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

He had wrapped his hand around your windpipe, cutting the flow of air from your lungs. The harder you try to claw his fingers away, the harder he squeezes. His face close to yours and when you look into his eyes, it was devoid of emotion. It is as if the person who is strangling you is possessed by something else.

You didn’t even have the time to think much about his reaction when your brain incessantly screams for you to survive. With no other way to defend yourself, you raise your leg to try and kick his chest but he was too fast. His other hand had managed to hold down your thigh before you could even raise it higher. With one hand holding down your thigh, his hold on your neck had loosen. So you grab the small opportunity by clawing at his hand on your neck while your fist hits the side of his face, his head flying to the side.

You were hit with coughing fits as soon as he lets go. The sudden feeling of relief from the pressure is unimaginable. You rub your neck, trying to ease its soreness and frustrated at the fact that you were feeling both angry and confused.

When you finally dared your eyes to reach across, you saw his face slowly, gradually filling itself with emotions that you couldn’t place. A weird mixture of awe, anger and fear. An expression you had never seen on him, after all those years of growing up together. The thought had not only made you curious, but also angry at the fact that he had tried to kill you without hesitation.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know what came over me.” Jason started, staring mindlessly at the screen.

That’s it. You stepped out of the door without a second thought, brushing your hair back to tuck it behind your ear as you stomp through the cemented ground, desperate for fresh air. It is then that you realised, that despite the anger and confusion you were feeling, there was no fear. Somehow somewhere deep inside your subconscious, you know that Jason may try to kill you but he could never finish the job.

Once you hear the slam of a car door, you didn’t need to look to know that it was him trying to stop you. So you increase your pace, feeling goosebumps rising from your forearms like a prey being hunted. All your mind could focus on is to get your ass back home and disappear to wherever that is safe.

You only made it as far as the edge of the row before your back was slammed against the back of someone’s SUV, causing you to wince from the sudden shock and pain. Whoever’s inside the SUV must’ve either passed out or hadn’t cared since they didn’t even bother to step out of their car and look.

With one hand trapping your wrist while the other holding onto the base of your throat, he made sure that you can’t move no matter how hard you tried to. In fact, your struggle only made him grin. You raise your fist, feeling the adrenaline coursing through you at the thought of it colliding towards his pretty face. Unfortunately, he was too fast because he blocked it by releasing his hold on your neck and slam your wrist next to your head. You flinched.

“Why were you trying to leave?” he questioned you in a menacing tone with his face a breath away from yours, the close distance causing an incessant hammering from your chest. Not to mention the awkward position you were both in.

Trying desperately not to sound as flushed as you were feeling, you retorted with, “I need to think, which is a normal reaction when your childhood best friend had just tried to kill you!”

“I told you I was sorry! How do you think I was supposed to react when I found out that you, out of all people, had to find out the one thing that threaten all our lives?!”

“After all the years you’ve known me, Jason, do you think I would be that stupid to expose you?” you hissed, unaware of how close you both had become in the midst of your anger. So close, that the tips of your noses were touching.

Jason seemed to be aware of this first, because you saw his eyes drifting to and away from your lips so fast you thought you had been dreaming. You must be dreaming. He didn’t see you that way, did he?

“Then let’s make a deal.” he suggested, looking like he’s battling with something inside him.

“I’m listening.”

“I will protect your identity if you protect mine. I know you’re trying to avenge your brother’s death. You wouldn’t want the whole Gotham underground to know your existence, when your brother had tried all he could to keep it a secret, would you?”

“Fine,” you replied, unflinchingly meeting his gaze when you continued, “but I have one more condition.”

“What is it?” he cocked his head, his expression now playful. It was like he’s on some kind of emotional drug.

“That we would never meet again.” you said, watching his expression becoming serious before you continue to explain, “Since we hold something that could potentially kill us both, we can’t risk it. It’s best if we keep to the end of our bargains separately, and hopefully in time, forget that we even knew each other.”

The look Jason is giving you in that moment, you swore that you would never forget it. Because there was not just pride in his eyes, but an unfamiliar warmth shining from those blues when he said, “Fine.”

“Fine.” you echoed, suddenly at a loss of words.

“Fine.” he repeated as if he had won some kind of internal battle with himself before crashing his lips on yours.

Your eyes shot open, before slowly closing at the feel of his lips against yours. ‘Fuck it, it’s not like you are ever going to meet again’, you thought as you feel him releasing both your wrists before pulling you closer by the back of your neck. Your hands automatically drift to the back of his head, relishing in the feeling of his soft black hair through your fingers.

And as if this was not enough, he broke the kiss as he lifted you from the back of your thighs, with you automatically wrapping it around his waist before he slammed you against the car once again. It was as if some kind of monster was unleashed between the two of you, when his lips drifted to the base of your throat, to where he had left a mark earlier from his hand.

You could feel the grin from his lips before it descended on your skin once again. But just before it could get any further, everything fades away.

Chapter 2: Present day, somewhere in Southwark, London.

Ice cold water splashed all over your face, making you shriek from the shock. You roll yourself to the side and with your long hair veiling your face, squeezing the water out of your nose and blinking it out of your eyes while trying to regulate your breaths.

It is then that you realise you are lying on a familiar cemented ground, both your hands are wrapped with black boxing tape smeared with a few drops of dried blood. You must’ve passed out while training, again. And out of all the things to be dreaming about, it had to be that damn night. Your reality is already hard enough as it is.

“You a’ight?” Coach Shaw asked, the culprit of the ice-water dumping.

“Was that really fucking necessary?!” you gritted out as you struggle to get up, shivering from the lack of heat in the goddamn gym in winter.

“Well yeah, I can’t just let you sleep nicely on the ground. You’re no Sleeping Beauty. It’s embarrassing enough as it is that you passed out mid-fight.”

“She was cheating!” you yelled, pointing at...nothing. Now that you realised, the boxing gym is actually empty. Although it is not a big gym due to its hidden location, it had always been crowded. Hell, you did recall few moments before you passed out that it had been full. What the hell is going on, and why is your head spinning as if you’re standing on a merry-go-round?

“How long was I out?” you asked Coach Shaw, shutting your eyes while gritting your teeth and clutching at the side of your head as if it would miraculously stop the spinning. Why can’t it stop spinning?

“D’you need to go to the hospital?” he asked you back, sounding actually concerned. You must’ve looked like shit for him to ask that.

“Give me a second.” you told him, trying to willing the pain away. Miraculously a few seconds later you could feel the spinning slowly fading into a slight ache in your temples. It’s a wonder how you are still alive and not suffering from hypothermia. Though this would remain to be seen, given how you’re still freezing and soaked through your black tank top and sports bra.

Coach Shaw is looking at you fixing your hair up into a tight bun sympathetically with his arms crossed, his muscles protruding from that tight shirt of his. He had always reminded you of that guy from that film franchise about fast cars, the one that shares his name in the film. If he had bothered to learn how to drive, he’d probably make it as his stunt double without much make-up.

 

“A’ight now?” he asked you, as you begin to unwrap your boxing tape. It seemed like there would be extra laundry for you to do tonight, since this dried blood would be a stubborn one to get out.

“I’m fine. I’ve dealt with worse, remember?” you answered, reminding him of the time how he had thrown you into the ring with a female professional fighter when you had first started training.

“Yeah, what happened? You seemed to be out of it these past few days.”

“What do you mean? I’m fine. It’s just work had been stressing me out lately.” you replied nonchalantly, heading towards the ladies’ locker room at the far end, stretching your fingers as you did so.

“No, I don’t think this is it.” he told you, his words causing you to turn back and flashed him a questioning look, silently asking him to explain. So he did, “You’re always constantly stressed from work, it’s practically ingrained in your personality. This is something else, something had been bothering you.”

“Fuck off, Coach.” you replied, not wanting him to have the satisfaction that he’s actually spot on. Something had been bothering you but that doesn’t mean you’re going to kiss and tell to just anyone.

“Whatever it is you better get it over with before you come back here, or I’ll find you a stronger opponent to fight with. Your performance today was humiliating.”

“Yeah, yeah.” you said, waving him off before pushing the door to the ladies’ locker room open and walk towards your locker at the edge. You let out an exasperated sigh as soon as you pull open your locker door to find your long black coat hanging and your gym bag sitting sadly on the bottom.

With Coach Shaw’s words weighing over your head, you dump your rolled up boxing tapes inside and pick up the new white sports bra and a grey linen sweater. As you change, your mind drifts toward the dream you had while you were unconscious, wondering whether it was truly that obvious for people to see that you had been out of it these past few days. If they do, it wouldn’t be long before people start to notice.

“Get a grip, Kit dammit.” you mutter to yourself, zipping up your bag after shoving your soaked clothes inside. You pick up your long black coat from the hanger, wearing it and tying its belt tightly across your waist before slinging your gym back across your shoulders and walk out of the lonely locker room.

When you step out of the locker room, Coach Shaw is already gone. Thinking that he is probably busy in his office, you start to make your way out of the gym. Normally you hate being alone in a large empty space that is not your own, but you’re already used to it whenever you leave the gym due to how late your training sessions can get. Yet tonight seems different.

It is only when you stop in your tracks near the dark corner of the gym, where the weights and machines are, to grab your phone and your headsets from the front pocket of your bag near the dark corner of the gym, that you feel a sudden tickling sensation from the back of your neck that causes your body to go on high alert. You pretend to casually look behind you as if you are pondering whether you had left something in your locker.

Of course, there is nothing out of the ordinary when your eyes are scanning through the gym. There are nothing but the usual different types of boxing gloves, lying in disarray around the rows of punching bags and speed bags that surround the boxing ring in the middle.

Yet the unsettling feeling is still there. Some part of you thought that perhaps it was just plain paranoia. Hell you are hoping that it is, because then you’d know that you could make it home before midnight to have a bath to soothe your wounds. But no, this unsettling feeling is too strong, too prominent for you to ignore and it had saved your life more than a thousand times.

So not wanting to alarm whoever’s following you, you decide to pretend to shrug it off and continue to make your way out of the gym while putting your headsets on, acting as if you are too distracted in choosing the right song to listen from your phone, to notice something or someone following you. While in reality, you were actually randomly choosing a song and placing your phone on silent, not letting even the slightest noise distracts you as you make your way down through the dark London street.

There are not many pedestrians at this hour, except for the occasional grumly individuals making their way home and drunkards stumbling to the closest pub they could find. This is a good thing because you’re not planning to lose your stalker as any normal person would do in this situation. It would only complicate your problem if whoever sent the asshole found even the slightest information about the life you’ve been trying to conceal. It seems like tonight is just going to be one of those nights.

The frosty air blows through your face as you stand on the sidewalk with both your hands tucked inside your pockets, waiting for the cars and buses to disappear before you. There is a couple making out next to you, clearly drunk and in love. How you wish you could trade lives with them at this instant. To be able to live so freely, so ordinary. You could feel sadness slowly starting to spread in your chest. But still, you didn’t let it distract you from the asshole hiding in the shadows. This is not something new after all.

Once the road is clear, you walk across but instead of heading towards the Tube station along with the couple, you head into the empty dark neighbourhood with the asshole still trailing several steps behind you. Fortunately, you know this neighbourhood like the palm of your hand.

You know that the further you walk, the narrower the road gets to the point it will look more like an alleyway than an actual road. Cars could never pass here, so the only possible witnesses of what you’re planning to do would be the residents from the rows of tiny Victorian houses, if they ever decide to look out of their windows that is.

You’re only satisfied that you’ve walked far enough when you notice how the street appear darker due to the long distance between each streetlight and the tree that partially shadows it. And it looks like the plan is working because judging from the faint smell of cigarettes and the sound of steady footsteps, the asshole is not far behind.

Huh, for someone who is supposed to be a skilled stalker, the person is really obvious. Either he’s an amateur or he is just not as skilled as the ones you had caught months ago. Still, it doesn’t mean he’s any less dangerous. Suppressing your increasing frustration, you go through with your plan anyway, hating how despite the effort it took you to turn your life around in a new environment, you’re still haunted by your past.

Catching the sight of him all dressed in black looking like a Reaper of Souls through your peripheral, you have to force yourself from turning to get a better view. Gathering your strength, you lower your head to type the 4-number code on the keypad next to the wooden brown door before rushing inside once the tiny light turns green.

You peek through the window next to the door like a lovestruck teenager, looking at him still several steps away throwing away his cigarette to a nearby bin before continuing to walk, as if the world owes him something and he’s here collecting it. There is something familiar about the way he walks, his silhouette, the air that he carries around. Like a hunter who’s confident that there would be a big catch tonight. The sight causes a familiar ache starting to form in your chest.

Not knowing why, you immediately crush your train of thought once you see him approaching your place. Feeling your blood pumping through your veins, you rush to shut the curtains of the windows between the front door before turning on the lights. You then drop your gym bag on the ground and kick it next to the chair filled with cobwebs near the empty fireplace.

Judging from the faint silhouette outside your window, you can tell that he’s standing there looking up at your old house, wondering what you are doing inside a house that looks abandoned from the outside. ‘Good. He could stand there longer if he wants to.’, you thought as reach your hand inside and behind the wall of the empty fireplace, pulling out the taped handgun with its silencer. Stilling your nerves, you walk towards the light switch next to the door as if you are about to get ready for bed, careful that he would not notice the gun you are holding through the silhouette from the window.

Click.

The sound the switch makes as the room goes dark again, with only the street lights illuminating the whole place through the windows. You let it guide you towards the doorway of the abandoned kitchen next to the broken stairs, sticking your back against the wall as if it could swallow you inside through the worn paint and disappear. Because despite everything you’ve been through, you’re still alone in this city with only a handful of people you could trust. And as soon as he manages to unlock your door with whatever device, he’d know that this is a trap once he takes a step inside. This plan better work or everything you’ve built would fall apart.

Click.

There it is, he had finally managed to get the door unlocked. As if it would help, you tighten your grip on your gun that was already positioned on your eye level in a useless attempt to ignore the incessant hammering of your chest. Silencing your breath, you strain your hearing towards the front door slowly creaking open.

Although his footsteps are silent, you can tell that he is already inside from the creaking floorboards, making you grateful that you’ve had not renovated this place. A few seconds and creakings later, there is a familiar click as the door closes, automatically locking you both inside. But you decided not to reveal yourself just yet, intending to wait for him to make a few more steps further from the door, just in case he managed to get away.

It is only when you can sense that he is approaching the fireplace from his footsteps that you dare yourself to take a peek, your gun loaded and positioned on your thighs as you do so. With his back on you, you see him sliding his hand over the old carvings of the fireplace before slowly bending down to reach your gym bag that is situated silently under the cobwebs-covered chair.

He had just picked up your gym bag from the ground when you walk out and shoot at his shoulder. Unfortunately he had managed to drop your bag and duck, causing the bullet to hit the wall behind him. He turns to you with his black hood still covering his head and a black mask concealing the lower half of his face.

You were about to fire another shot when he flips out a handgun from the waistband of his pants. Judging by his skills, you can tell that he’s a professional. Then why is he so obvious in stalking you? Moreover, who sent him?

Both guns are still pointing at each other, although he is just holding the gun with one hand, looking more relaxed. Before you could ponder at the odd familiarity, you question him,“Who sent you?”

“No one.” he answered, his voice oddly familiar. Where had you heard that voice before?

“Who, the fuck sent you?”

“I’ll tell you if you’d drop your weapon.”

“You first.”

“Ladies first.” he fired back, amused.

“Quit playing games!” you shouted at him, mad at the fact that he finds this situation amusing. Didn’t he know that you are time-constrained?!

“Why don’t we drop the weapons at the count of 3.”

“Fine.”

“1…” he counted, taking a step closer to you.

“2…” he’s halfway there.

“3…” he’s standing right across from you, touching his gun barrel to yours.

Although you couldn’t see his face, you can tell that he’s grinning like an evil villain who had just achieved total world domination. It made you consider shooting his face right then and there. Funny, the last time you have such an urge for someone, it was...no. No way, he couldn’t be, could he?

As if he’s answering your thoughts, he removes his hood with his free hand. Your eyes immediately widen at the sight. You didn’t need him to take off his mask to know who he is. Just by the way his eyes narrowing at you, you can already imagine how his snarky grin would look like under his mask.

His black hair still looks like he just rolled out of bed, reminding you of how soft it had felt on your skin. Everything remains the same, except for the strip of white on the side and its shorter length. You had to un-tighten and tighten your grip on the gun to prevent yourself from relishing on those silky strands across your fingers.

It is then that everything clicks into place. All those stalkers that you’ve caught, the men who had been following you wherever you go, how you’ve been sleeping in almost different places every night just to throw them off your scent. The countless sleepless nights you spent questioning them just to get some answers. And now the culprit is literally standing right in front of you. It is no wonder he didn’t bother to even hide himself like the rest of them. If there is a feeling that you hate the most, it is the feeling of being hunted.

It is as if you were struck by lightning when you pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed through the side of his thigh, landing on the wall behind him. He grunts and falls to his knees. The sound the wooden floors make when his knees hit the ground is like music to your ears.

“Was that really fucking necessary?”, he said in a way as if what you did was ridiculous. It is as if he is begging to be shot, maybe somewhere closer to his upper thighs.

“Why are you here, Jason? What the fuck do you want?” you questioned him, your face devoid of emotion as you pull the mask away from his face. He stares you back, still grinning. And it is then that you noticed something that is definitely different about him. There’s a scar right under his eye. No, more like a brand. A brand that is shaped like a ‘J’.

 

Chapter 3

“I need your help.” he finally admitted as blood starts to soak through his black jeans.

You’re not sure what he meant by his words. Your eyes flicking back and forth from him helplessly clutching his bleeding leg to the gun still lying on the ground. You move closer and kick it away before moving a few steps back with your gun still pointed at him, not wanting to take any chances despite how helpless and lost he looks right now.

“Why would I help you? I thought we had agreed to never see each other again.” you reminded him of the deal you both made years ago, right on that goddamn night that you can’t seem to forget. Although the man that night had been different, he seemed to have his demons under control. The man who’s currently on his knees before you, he looks like his demons had been unleashed and had barely survived the harrowing battle.

“After all the years we’ve known each other. I’m literally on my knees.” he pointed out jokingly before moving to unbuckle his belt. You raise your eyebrows at him, rolling your eyes and wondering if he had really lost his senses. If he dares to lower an inch of his pants, that’s it, you’ll murder him right then and there.

“You can put the gun down, Kit.” he told you, tying his black leather belt tightly on top of his wound to increase the pressure. For someone who just got shot, he seemed oddly calm. As if something like this happen everyday. What a showoff.

“Have you had any idea what had happened in Gotham a few nights ago?” he asked you causally, tightening the belt and gritting his teeth at the stinging pain before holding onto the closest furniture to drag him up and lean on it.

Of course you do. The whole world does. “I know you’re responsible. So what is that you want? Protection? Weapons? A one-way trip to the closest asylum?”

“Protection, weapons are good too.” he told you, pointing at the barrel like a little kid pointing at a toy, “You can put that thing down now. You’ve kicked away my gun, it’s not like I’m going to attack you when I’m already injured, unarmed and in need of your help.”

How you wish you could knock his head off, but he’s right. Your arms had started to burn from holding it for so long. Glaring at him like a petulant child, you unload your gun, turn the safety on and tucking it in the waistband of your jeans. All while he smirks at you like a psychotic creep. A handsome, fuckable psychotic creep.

“Look, what makes you think I’m going to help you anyway?” you asked him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“I hope you don’t forget…” he began, stumbling closer to you, so close that your bodies are almost touching before continuing, “...that I know your little secret.”

Now it is your turn to smile as you close the distance. With your bodies already touching, you raise yourself onto your tiptoes so that your eyes would meet, “Well so do I. You’re lucky that you got out of that mess unscathed.”

Not the one to shy away from a challenge, he bends a little closer to the point both the tips of your noses touch. His eyes drift to your lips before moving back to your eyes so fast, you thought it was an illusion. You had to swallow an invisible lump in your throat to still your nerves when he tells you, “Then we could do the honourable thing and go down together. It’s a good way to go, if I had to be honest. Two tragic lovers making their fiery descend to hell.”

“You must be dreaming because we were never lovers.” you told him, walking past him and bumping his shoulder on purpose, feeling him smiling to himself like an idiot as you head towards where your gym bag is. You could feel his stare on your ass as you bend down to pick up your gym bag from the ground. The fucker didn’t even bother to do it discreetly. What an ass.

“Kit I’m serious, I really need your help.” he said in a serious tone, turning his body to face you, his previous snickering all gone.

Slinging your bag on your shoulder, you walk closer to face him with your arms across your chest to keep the distance to tell him, “Consider keeping the deal we agreed to that night 10 years ago the last favour I did for you, Jason. I’m done with that part of my life.”

“Then what’s with that gun tucked in your jeans?” he pointed out, so you grab his hand, pull out the gun from the waistband of your jeans and hand it to him. He stares at it for a second, his eyebrows raised before keeping it inside his jacket pocket.

“Thanks for the gun,” he pats his coat, “but it still doesn’t change the fact that it’s impossible to walk away from the fucked up life we’re born into.”

“Nice try, fuckhead. You can’t manipulate me into handing you all my weapons.” you sneered at him, then proceeded to explain, “Even if I could help you, what makes you think that I have enough resources to protect you? I’d rather protect myself first from letting your shit fuck up my life again.”

Taking his silence as a surrender, you turn away to head towards the front door. He can stay in this place as long as he likes. You were planning to sell it anyway.

Relief cascade through your chest as you are a few steps away from the front door. This is it, once you step outside, this whole thing would be over. You’re practically dizzy with excitement despite feeling a little sadness inside. You’re not sure where the sadness comes from but you ignore it, telling yourself that this is what you’ve always wanted. To live a normal life as you did all those years in Dublin before he decided to send his men.

Just a few steps between you and the door. The relief you felt is suddenly replaced by doubt, causing you to hesitate. He took advantage of your hesitation because just as you were about to grab the door handle, you feel a strong force from your abdomen, pushing you back to the point your back hit a hard chest. Your bag had fallen off your shoulders due to the movement, lying by its side between you and the door. That familiar smell of smoke and iron hit your nostrils with a slight hint of cigarette. The smell makes you want to gag because that’s his smell. Blood and smoke.

“What makes you think I’ll let you leave this place so easily?” he whispered through your ear, his voice low, sending goosebumps running down your spine. Your traitorous body just had to be aware that his lips are dangerously close to your neck.

“Because it’s my place and I have legs.” you answered and a little surprised that your voice is steady despite how tense you are. How you wish he could be replaced with any man, any man at all that won’t make you feel this stupid for having these emotions.

“Don’t you want to know the real reason why I sought for your protection and no one else’s?” he asked, his voice filled with mischief. You have to admit, finally knowing his answer is extremely tempting. But then again, he’s Jason Todd. Nothing is right with this guy.

Seeing as you both are still standing there in an awkward position, he decides to prod you some more, “I know you’re itching to know, Kit. Why out of everyone, I decide to hunt down the one person that would most likely murder me upon seeing my face.”
He willingly lets go of his hold on you when you twist to face him. You hate how triumphantly smug he fucking looks, your fists clenching to keep yourself from scratching that look out of him. You could already imagine how it would feel like, detail by detail, to dig your nails into his skin, marking him, making him yours. Only, it is no longer his face you’re imagining.

You shake your head, clearing those dirty, vile images out of your head before you answer him, “You know what, you’re an idiot.”

“How so?” he wondered, folding his arms across his chest, clearly showing off his muscles. You had to resist rolling your eyes as you explain to the idiot, “Because you’ve literally wasted your effort at convincing me. It didn’t work even in the slightest.” Of course you lied.

“Are you sure about that?” he challenged, taking a courageous step closer.

“Extremely positively sure,” you told him, taking a step closer to shove him away, causing him to stumble back a little as his eyes sparkle with excitement when you continue, “you don’t have to waste your effort trying to convince me because even a village idiot could tell why you’re here.”

He lets out a mischievous laugh as you stare at him, wondering what this faint familiar ache in your chest is. Confused, you force yourself to stay cautious for any sudden movement by him. But nothing could prepare you for what he’s about to do to you.

Like a hunter, he practically leap at you, his hand grabbing at your throat as he pushes you against the door, the force causing it to rattle. With his face so close to yours, you watch tentatively as the edge of his lip curls. You swallow an invisible lump in your throat, confused at this weird mixture of fear and attraction.

“Not so powerful anymore, are you?” he taunted.

“Even if you kill me today or chain me to you forever, I’d always win.” you replied, mildly surprised at your ability to mask your fear from your voice.

“Chaining you to me forever? I’d have to admit that sounds tempting.”

“Then you must be lonelier than I thought.” you told him, getting mad at the fact that he’s loving this, you add, “You’ve lost everything you could ever care about. You’ve got no friends, no enemies that’s worth a sliver of your time. You literally have nothing to live for. So now you’re here with the pretense of a protection to torment me. Frankly, I’m not sure if I should be flattered or appalled.”

“Who said anything about torment? Maybe I came here to be with you?” he brought his face closer to yours to the point your noses are both touching, making you even more confused as to whether to kiss him or headbutt him. Every senses inside you heightened, aware at the lack of distance between the two of you.

He must be sensing the conflict you’re battling because he tells you, “Admit it no matter how hard you try to push it away, it’s still there, isn’t it? The memories of that night, the electricity between us.”

You turn away from him and he lets you. Ignoring his words and facing the hollow living room, you tell him, “You can stay here on my terms. But that’s the extent of my protection. I don’t want to see you, hear you nor feel you near me. Once I do, I’ll report you to the closest authorities. Can you let me go now?”

You were keeping your eyes on your bag sitting on the ground, determined not to meet his eyes when he whispers, “For now.”

But as soon as you drift your eyes from your bag to look back up at him, he releases you and turns away to face the darkness. You immediately fall to the ground, bending your knees as soon as your feet lands on the ground. Your eyes go up at him, picking your bag on the ground and ignoring the stinging pain in your back. You could tell from the way he’s disappearing into the darkness, absorbed in his own darkness like a misunderstood teenager, that it’s your cue to leave.

Still, as you leave him wandering around in that old empty house, you couldn’t help but think of his last two words. ‘For now’. It sounds like a vow of sorts. What could he want from you? It’s not like you’re leading an extraordinary life of excitement and espionage. You’re just a woman trying to find a semblance of an ordinary life before they found out the connection you hold to Cameron Duncan.

Notes:

The details regarding the characters (not including the original characters), and location may not be accurate to fit into this story. However, I do try to keep the essence of the characters and details as accurate as I can, so bear with me.:D

I hope you enjoy this story as much as I do writing it.