Jason Todd

I parked the bike in the bushland next to houseboat not bother to chain it. The locals know me, know I’m a good person to have onside. I’ve never given them a reason to see what happens when I’m not onside, but I’m pretty sure they understand. Something about the scars, something about the way I holds myself, something about being a who I am in a place like this.

( Follow... )

Jay threw himself into the corner of the cell, pressing his back against the walls to make himself as secure as possible. Walls at his back meant no attack from behind, only in front and above. He knew, somewhere deep down that he was safe, that nothing could get at him inside the Baby but the rest of his mind was lost to the flood of Ivy’s pollen and Crane’s fear serum.

The nightmares started crowding in on him almost soon as the needle had touched his neck but he’d pushed them down, pushed them back for as long as he could. Every meditation technique, every scrap of self-control, every ounce of waning strength had got him here but now there was nothing left. No reserve.

The drug sped up his heart, sending the rush of fear and adrenaline through his whole mind. The images flashed and overlapped but not just images, the fear pervaded his senses, making everything realer than real.
( Follow... )

London looked exactly like I remembered; dichotomous blend of old and new, of shining glass skyscrapers and ancient stone. Heathrow however, as exactly the same hell as any other airport in the world.

It wasn’t hard to pick up the tracing signal Drake had given me for Squire but I was in no mood to find her just yet. Jetlag is a bitch; no matter who you are and what I wanted was sleep. And there’s no point having three thousand dollar suit and a platinum American Express if you can’t walk into any five star hotel without a single reservation or question.

I woke up to find the room’s TV screen displaying a white rose and the address of a nightclub on the east side. “Screw you, Beryl.” I muttered, going in search of coffee. It was too early late for games like that.

When I’d topped up my caffeine content and showered airplane stink out of my hair, I returned to find the message had changed to a kiss mark and the words No need to dress up. Leave the toys at home.

I growled at the screen and changed into jeans and my leather jacket, a knife down the side of my boot. I could accept leaving the guns behind but I was damned if I was going anywhere completely unarmed.

The cabbie didn’t look impressed to be picking up a scruffy looking American from one of the most expensive hotels in the city, clearly pegging me for a rent boy but he took my money all the same.

The club, like all the city, wore its history on its sleeve. Stained wood and low ceilings opened out to stage and dance floor. It was hard to pin down the theme of the place, oscillating between punk, goth and glam seemingly between breaths. Decades of sweaty, dirty rebellion soaking into the very pores of the place.

I found a drink and a corner with a view of the door. It wasn’t hard to spot her, even if I hadn’t seen her for over five years. She wore her cover well - a manic pixie dream girl with boyish red hair, Ziggy Stardust make-up and a Space Oddity jacket. I knew from the way she didn’t look at me, she knew I was there. She danced shamelessly close to a waifish, gender ambiguous youth who’s Robert Smith look dripped black hair dye down the back of hir neck in the close, humid air. I followed her eyeline and caught what she was trying to get me to notice.

The drug deal happening in the far corner; discreet but there was an edge to it, something hurried and tense. She signed something against the back of her dance partner’s black tee shirt. Bad juice. Need sample

Fine! I finished my drink and made my way across the floor. The press of bodies moved around me; hot and tight and all hands. I don’t think I’ve been that well groped since the limo mistake when I was thirteen. Any other time and in some other mood, it might have been fun but right now, I didn’t need the distraction.

And that is itself gave me away. I moved too directly, too intently on my target and spooked the dealer’s muscle. Cursing myself for a fool, I doubled back, intending to meet them in the alley as they slipped out the door but the Cure wannabe caught me on the way. “Come dance with me. She said you would.” Hir eyes were piss-holes in the snow, high as a kite. I could see now why Beryl had an eye on hir; whatever the dealers were selling, this youth had taken and taken too much.

“One dance then.” I conceded, looking down at the youth. Skinny and heavily made up, I had a sudden flash of what Emcee might have looked like as a boy. Utterly lacking in Emcee’s self possessed charm but it was there. “But you should drink some water first.”

Ze grumbled and let me guide hir to the bar, my hand rested on hir collar to keep a measure of hir pulse. Too fast. Even flushed with dancing and lust judging from what I saw, far too fast.

Ze moulded against me and I suddenly felt very, very old.

Beryl reappeared a moment later and before she could get in a word of greeting, I mouthed ambulance. She nodded and was gone again and I set to convincing the youth to come outside with me. I could feel this going very pear shaped, very fast. Then someone screamed over the pounding music.

Whatever the dealers were selling, they got out quick for a reason. It was clearly bad news.

After some serious juggling (we were there in civilian identities and all) we managed to get out of the club as the police and EMTs started their work. Half hour later, we were sitting on the roof a couple of blocks away, sharing fish and chips from a greasy wrap of paper.

“Well, that sucked.” She muttered, leaning back on the slate tiles.

I nodded and was about to say something but she put out a hand to stop me.

“It wasn’t your fault. I spooked them earlier so their guard was high and they were almost out for the night. No apology needed.”

Damn! I’d almost forgotten about her near telepathic ability to read body language.

She broke off a lump of fried fish and picked at it. “I heard you had a bad run recently. I’ve got to say, you’re in better shape than I was led to expect.”

I looked across at her and give her a wry look.

“Red Robin.” She answers the unasked question, “I like him. Don’t you?”

“Do you even need to ask me?” I muttered, stealing a chip. It was an effort not to flush. How the fuck had Drake gotten under my skin so fast.

“Not really but I wanted to see your reaction.” She smiled, bumping my shoulder in a surprisingly friendly gesture. “So, are you going to help me bust this drug ring? I need to find out what’s in the stuff so I can track the manufacture.”

I reached into a pocket and pulled out a plastic wrapper, still crusted with a fine later of white powder on the inside.

“Where?” She demanded, looking faintly annoyed.

“Your Robert Smith friend. Back right pocket.” I might have been gloating. A little.

She poked her tongue out at me. “I need to get this back to Sheldrake Castle for analysis.”

I pulled it back as she went to take it. “I’ve got somewhere closer. I’ll sort it out and be back soon.”

She studied my face for a long moment. “I’m not sure if I trust you with this, Red Hood. You are a bad guy after all.” She must have seen the thunder in my face because she held her hands out in surrender. “But Red Robin vouched for you and that’s enough for me. Do your thing and we’ll plan our next step.”

I polished off the last vinegary chunk of fried potato and stood up, balancing easily on the slippery tiles. “I’ll see you soon, Squire.” And dropped off the ledge.

[Part three]

I didn’t move from the rooftop for some hours. Instead I let the rain and some really strong pain killers take it all away from a while. It was dumb and dangerous. I was not safer there than I was anywhere in Gotham but it was going to be a while before I was able move enough to do something about it.

Cataloguing my physical injuries was depressing enough but it helped me focus, stopping me from thinking about the other stuff. My right hand was a mess – three broken bones at least, probably more. None of my broken ribs had puncture my lungs but at least one of them was out of place by enough to worry about. My knee wasn’t hurting too much which made me wonder how badly it was dislocated in that last miss-stepped swing. And that was just the bones. The soft tissue damage was harder to catalogue. Mostly because there wasn’t much of me left that wasn’t bruised, battered or possibly bleeding internally. And the blood leaking from the cut on my thigh; the last batarang Bruce threw at me before I tackled him to the ground, didn’t show much sign of wanting to stop anytime soon.

Getting down from the roof wasn’t going to be easy.

And I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I had failed to kill the Joker and in my current state, I couldn’t risk going after him again. I could have killed Bruce tonight and Dick could have killed me.

I wasn’t even back to square one. At square one I had hope, however slim, that my family might understand what I needed to do to be at peace. I never thought they would help me avenge myself but I had hoped I could get them to understand why it had to be done.

Now...

Now I only had Alfred and even then...

Bruce would have made it back to the cave by then. Alfred would be patching him up, seeing the cracks in the cowl, the bruises around Bruce’s throat. He’d be hearing Dick rant about me.

Could even Alfred still keep an open mind then?

Maybe it was better just to stay on the roof and let the rain wash away the blood and the hurt till it all stopped. Maybe Eric was right – maybe I am suicidal.

Or maybe I’m just too tired to fight anymore.

It’d be nice to see Death again, I kinda missed her. I didn’t even want to think about the idea of Milliways as an afterlife. I just wanted to rest.

I deserved that, didn’t I?

My legs were numb, my hands were cold. Shock was shutting me down and I made no effort to fight it.

And then a shadow fell over me and I had a fleeting vision of a slender, fine boned face and blue, blue eyes.

And then nothing.











Apparently heaven smells like coffee. Alfred’s coffee. Couldn’t be hell then. Hell would smell like instant, not that dark, rich stuff all Bats are addicted to.

I panicked then. Was I in the cave? Had Bruce found me? I moved my arm, expecting to find myself tied down but my hands were free.

“You really shouldn’t do that.” The voice was young but confident. “I had a hell of a time finding a vein to get that drip in. If you rip it out, I’m going to be really annoyed.”

He stood over me, one hand light but strong on my forearm. Short but not overly so for his age but with the tight musculature of a gymnast or dancer. Buttoned down shirt and neatly pressed slacks. Wealth but not ostentatious. The room said that too – well stocked but without much personality.

I cleared my throat with an effort, my voice harsh. Fuck, my throat felt raw but no doubt B’s was worse. “Tim Drake.” I didn’t pose it as a question. I may not have met him but I knew who he was. “The Robin who came after me.”

“Red Robin.” He corrected with a slight smile, offering me a glass of water.

I took it and sipped, trying not to cough. “Your nest?” Where am I seemed a little redundant at this stage. The ache in my muscles told me I’d been out three or four days at least and this wasn’t the Manor.

“The Londown building.” His smile took on a sardonic edge. “You were bleeding to death on my roof. Do you know what bloodstains do to the property value around here?”

I choked back a laugh. “In Gotham? Not a damn thing.” Something told me I was going to like this kid.

He snorted and started systematically unhooking me from the little nest of medical monitors. “You might have a point there.”

I looked down at my shattered hand; splinted, clean and freshly bandaged with faint signs of resent surgery. “Did you do this?”

“What I could.” He shrugged, “The rest was Leslie. Don’t worry, Bruce doesn’t know where you are.”

His comment shocked me and it must have showed on my face because he turned to look at me then. His eyes were a fascinating shade of blue. Not stormy like Bruce or mine or the summer sky of Dick’s but deeper. The colour of clear water that hides deadly undercurrents. A strange thing to fixate on, I know but there was something about those eyes that both hid and revealed everything.

And now those eyes held me, serious and intense. “Bruce trained me but I’m not his. I never was. I chose Red Robin for a reason. The colour separates us.”

There was more meaning in those words than anyone outside the family could have understood. We were the same – Red Hood and Red Robin. Part of the family but not a part. Bruce’s protégés but not his disciples.

The Bat has no hold over us because we chose our own path.

The truth in that hit me harder than the kick that broke my ribs and I sat on the edge of the med-bay stunned.

We’d never met, never trained together but it was clear Drake understood me, perhaps better than I understood myself.

“I owe you one.” The words seemed hollow after a revelation like that.

Drake snorted. “You bet you do! And I will be calling that favour in one day.” He handed me a cup of Alfred’s perfect coffee and I clung to it like a lifeline. “What will you do now?”

I took a deep draft before answering, almost surprising myself with the words. “Leave Gotham. At least for now.”

“If it’s any consolation, I think you’re right. The Joker needs to die.” He said it so offhandedly, I almost choked. “When you’re ready to make another go at him I’ll run interference on the others.”

My hands shook so badly I had to grip the mug to keep from spilling it.

He turned away then, unbuttoning his shirt and stepping into a bedroom just beyond. At first I wondered if it was some obtuse come-on that my pain-killer addled brain wasn’t translating right. But through the open door I could see him pulling on his suit, adjusting the harness that crisscrossed his chest and abdomen.

“I’m going back to New York tonight.” He settled the complex cape around his shoulders, testing and retesting some mechanism in his gauntlet. “Stay as long as you need. Just lock up before you head out.”

He was on the windowsill before I found to words.

“Tim?” I half rose, setting the cup down. “Thanks.”

The smile he flashed me then was cryptic and far too fucking sexy for my current mental health. “We Reds have got to stick together. If you’re looking for something to keep you sharp, there’s some interesting stuff happening in Europe at the moment. You might look Beryl Hutchinson up.”

I took the intel with a nod. “Will do.” I know Squire and like her. She’s a former street rat like me and like Drake and I, doesn’t always play by the Bat handbook. The tip had me interested.

But he was gone, dropping through the window and out of sight.

I found my phone in a pile with my neatly folded clothes. Time to book a ticket for England and leave Gotham behind. At least for now.

{Epilogue}

[Part one]


I was lying of course, when I told Alfred I had somewhere to stay. I hadn’t been back to Gotham in four years and the last time I was there I was a brain-broken mess with grave dirt still under my nails. All my nests and safe-houses in the city belonged to my Robin days and there wasn’t one Batman didn’t know about. Not safe ground to lay my head.

It was nearly dawn and I was exhausted. Talking with Alfred for the first time since before I died left me so drained I could barely steer my bike. I could have walked into any hotel and take a room. I had money and identities strong enough to stand up to even Bruce’s detective skills but I wasn’t there as Jason Todd. I was there as Red Hood.

I didn’t know if Alfred would tell Bruce what had happened, or if Bruce would find out another way but... I couldn’t deal with him right now. I needed rest.

I don’t know if it was the time I’d spent with little Cat or Alfred’s mention of Selina but I found myself turning north, towards the old Haynes building.

It surprised me to find that the area had been gentrified a whole lot since my time. The once abandoned old department store had been gutted and turned into a trendy nightclub. Even so close to dawn, party goers wandered onto the streets like confetti in the wind. But the roof was still the same.

I nearly fouled the jump and found myself dangling over a six story fall by my fingertips. Good thing my reflexes are still sharp, even if my mind was half asleep already. I dragged myself up and through the hatch behind the south gargoyle.

Just before WWI, Alberto Haynes – an Italian immigrant opened a little general store on what had once been the northern edge of Gotham. By the forties, it was the grandest, most lavish department store in the city. In the sixties, the great grandson of said Alberto, keen to keep the family business afloat, invested everything into building a railway station on the roof, hoping to connect it to Gotham’s elevated train system. However the city engineers refused. The foundations of the building would have been shaken apart by the vibrations and weight of the trains. Bankrupt and in disgrace, Haynes had the rooftop station boarded up and a year later, the building was abandoned.

Why this little detour in to Gotham’s past? Because knowing shit like that could save your life one day. The fact the station was still there, in all its art decoesque glory was a secret known to me and one other – the beautiful Selina Kyle, known to most of Gotham and the world as Catwoman.

Sel’s safehouse in the old station master’s quarters had the sort of style that made you think of film noir – black velvet, red silk and dangerous liaisons. It was everything that remembered and loved about her. I had no right being there but I fell into that bed without a single thought and was out like a light.

The sound of pearls on cut crystal woke me but she leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Go back to sleep.” Her voice was as dark and smooth as smoke and for a moment I thought I dreamt it. But then she slipped into the bed beside me, her satin skin warm against my own as she brushed her fingers over my eyes, closing them softly. “Sleep.”

The sun was low through the geometric coloured glass when I opened my eyes again. She was still there – my first crush and in the truest meaning of the word - my first lover. All sleek skin and toned muscle. The greatest catburgler in the world and the embodiment of feminine grace.

The corner of her lip twitched as I looked at her, her eyes still closed. “I can hear you thinking, Jay. And it needs to stop.” She rested one lazy hand on my shoulder and pushed me down.

It had been five years since the last time I’d been in her company and in her bed. A dark and stormy night in more ways than one. She had sheltered me, taken me into her arms and with gentle words and even gentler actions; taught me how to make love. A street whore from age twelve, I knew the mechanics of sex but she taught me the meaning of pleasure. I had been two month shy of my sixteenth birthday and very soon to die.

Five years and the lifetime between that night and this. I buried my face between her thighs and gave back all she had given me so long ago.

It was dark before we prepared to part with no more words than that. She pulled up the zip of the formfitting suit as I laced up my boots. She looked at me for a long time, goggles dangling. “You shouldn’t have come back, Jay.”

I shrugged, unable to meet her eye.

She lifted my chin. “Forget Gotham. Forget him. Make a new life for yourself.”

I pulled away and shook my head. “I can’t run anymore. It has to end. I have to end it.”

Her hand was at my throat then and I could feel the razor tips of her clawed gloves prick the skin over my jugular. She pulled me into a violent kiss, splitting my lip. She lapped at my blood, hissing sharply as she kissed me again. Her eyes were a feral green that made me think of Eric.

She threw me back onto the bed, still kissing me with a brutal intensity that left me breathless. What passed between us then had nothing to do with affection but deep and visceral lust. Our day of lovemaking had broken to animal need, like sudden thunderstorm and somehow I knew this was her way of saying goodbye.

She left me there, bleeding from a hundred shallow scratches and some not so shallow. Some that would scar and mark me forever. A sign on my skin of what she had done to my heart. What we had done to each other.

Night had fallen as I cast my jumpline, the red mask covering my face as I threw myself into the Gotham sky. I would never see her again. That I knew for sure. This too must end.


[Part three.]

Stepping back into his world was a mistake. He meant to spend a few more days with the tribe before saying goodbye to Africa forever. But there were messages waiting for him and not messages he wanted to hear. The kidnappers had gotten to the village; they’d taken the two youngest girls and killed three men of the tribe.

Jay closed his eyes and let it soak in. Outwardly he seemed calm, perfectly calm. Leaning against a pillar in the foyer of Tangier’s best hotel, he looked like a tired traveller rather than a man planning murder.

He had planned to break the trafficking ring before he left, to find the ones reasonable and bring them to the attention of the UN – preferably beaten and left on the doorstep of their office in Sierra Leone, one of the few western nations left that still proper law enforcement.

But now they had taken the girls from his tribe, from Ali’s people. He breathed out slowly and pushed off the pillar. There were things to arrange.

A dozen phone-calls later, Jay stepped off a first class flight at Seguela Airport. No-one looked sidewise at him. In the middle of a civil war, it wasn’t wise to get the attention of rich white man; you never know who they might be connected too. And in his suit, hair pulled back and hidden under a dark fedora, Jay look like the sort of rich white man who was highly connected.

Half hour later he was on the edge of town, pushing open the back door of a small bar. “Milliways. I need my gear.” His voice was flat and toneless. Now is not a time for emotion.

{{To here}}

{{from here}}

Jay's workshop is an interesting mess of bike parts and tools. He has a couple of old couches and a cooler full of beer too. "I know it's weird but being down here is almost as private as anywhere in Milliways."

( For Rae... )

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( For Ichabod... )

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( For Shephard... )

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( For William... )

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( For Gavroche... )

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( For Charles... )

Leaving Milliways for Chrismas

The basket of treats from Rae touches Jay deeply. Her friendship and kindness has meant the world to him. Not to mention her understanding. Ichabod’s too. And William and Jemma and Gavroche and Teja and Shephard and Alan. And all the other friends he’s somehow managed to make in such a short period of time. Fuck! Why would anyone leave a place like this?

But he has to leave. At least for a little while. Talking to Rae and Ichabod has made him realise there are things he has to do. Things he can’t leave as they are.

He takes the basket down to the garage with him. There’s more here than he could ever hope to eat before they go stale and that would be a waste beyond words. He lifts out the tin of lace cookies, too delicate to travel and stashed them somewhere safe before wrapping the rest and tucking them in his pannier bags.

The lift takes him and his somewhat updated and improved bike upstairs. He pulls the goggles down, knowing that time hasn’t passed on the outside which means a hell of a dust-storm is still waiting for him. At least he’s prepared for it this time.

He rides to the edge of the storm, finding a high dune to sit and wait out the rest of the day. He should make for the Ivory Coast. It’s three days hard ride, maybe two with the work he’s done on the bike. With time not passing from outside Milliways, Ali’s only been dead a day. His family deserves to know. But before he can go to them, Jay needs to see the stars. Ali’s stars.

He sits up on the dune and watches as the desert sky changes colour and each and every star visible with the naked eye comes out and shines. Under this sky, he and Ali held each other, holding back the loneliness just a little while longer and remembering what human kindness felt like. The tears come slowly, silver in the reflected light as the moon steals sky from the stars. It’s been nearly a month since Ali died, longer than Jay knew him but it only takes a single look to know. To fall in love.

And yet Jay hasn’t mourned. He hasn’t given himself that time. But here, alone under Ali’s sky, he can finally cry.

Before midnight, he kicks the engine into gear and heads out. He has promises to keep, Ali’s family to talk to and Rae’s food to share. It’s been a long time since Jay celebrated Christmas in any way. This seems as good a way to spend the holiday as any.