Summary:Helena tracks down Jason to see if things are as bad as her parents said. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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"Yeah, that's a bruised rib", Jason grunts to himself as he finishes unfastening and removing his armored shirt. He slings it over an industrial hanger and lets it dangle as he leans back against his workbench. The bruise covers a good portion of his right side, showing where the shirt stopped several bullets. Even with heavy armor…bullets hurt. He brushes his fingers back through his dark hair (With white stripe!) and turns to walk towards his fridge. He opens it to reveal a few bottles of beer and some condiments, and little else. He pulls out an ice cold bottle and rests it against his ribs with a growl.
The subway station was abandoned years ago, though several access tunnels still reach it if you know where to go. His Mustang reaches it through several back alleys and a fairly unknown, hidden tunnel. Other maintenaince halls reach it as well. A few catwalks overlook the area, which has been mostly cleaned. A computer bank is setup with a few monitors, and while it is nice, it is no Bat Computer. A few couches and chairs are sprawled about, looking like he got them at Goodwill. A few tables are laid out with numerous weapons and gadgets, like a mini-armory. Several old arcade cabinets are plugged in along a wall, the games flashing and auto-playing.
Jason is dressed in his armored pants, boots, and his domino mask. He pops the top off of the beer bottle and takes a long pull, slowly making his way towards the couch. An old television is setup in front of it, plugged into a few old video game systems with a scattering of games, along with a battered cable box.
Helena knows a thing or two about finding people. And she knows a thing or two about being on the lam, thanks to Mom's advice. And she knows a thing or two about Jason. Put all of those things together, and she's got a few ideas of where and how to find him. The question, really, was whether Helena would check in on him, or Blackbird.
It's safer for Helena if Blackbird shows up - she's a stranger. And it's safer for Blackbird if Helena shows up…assuming Jason's really all right and back to himself. She finally decided in the interest of keeping a few secrets. Her father's daughter indeed.
It's Helena who picks her way through the passages to the old station. But it's probably the smell that reaches Jason before anything else: fresh, hot pepperoni pizza.
It's a good thing Helena shows up. He likely would not have a very welcoming response to an unknown masked person just…showing up!
He flicks the television on and leans back with his beer as he picks up the Sega controller. The tell-tale 'Seeeegaaaaa' is probably before Helena's time, but it brings a bit of a tired, pained grin to Jason's face. He winces, though, as he tastes some blood with his beer, and he washes it down with a grunt. He lounges back on the battered couch to relax a little. He earned it after saving that little girl from the kidnappers, right? Busy night. They're all busy nights.
His nostrils flare when he smells the pizza, and suddenly he is on his feet. He faces the door the smell is coming from, his hand -very- close to the gun hidden behind a couch pillow. They're hidden all over the damn place. "Hello?"
Helena takes a deep breath, bracing herself. Either this is going to work, or things are about to go spectacularly pear-shaped. Possibly involving blood a a lot of explaining things to the parents.
"Hey," she calls back quietly, stepping to one side almost as soon as she says it. "It's Helena. I brought pizza?"
Please don't shoot me, please don't shoot me, please don't shoot me…
Well, he sure wasn't expecting -that- voice! He hesitates for a moment, and he nods. "Oh. Uh. Come on in…"
He sets the controller down and winces as he makes his way over to the bed in the corner, scooping up some of his laundry and kicking it out of view, like many bachelors. "Looks like dad rubbed off on you. Unless he found me for you?," he calls back, curious.
He looks like hell warmed over. Handsome and buff, sure, but with a clearly recent blackeye under his domino mask, the bruised ribs, and other recent scars. Signs of active work. Also, he looks like he hasn't slept much, and is likely surviving off those beers in the fridge.
"If you think Mom or Dad knows I'm here, they didn't bring your brains back when they brought the rest of you," Helena snorts as she gives the door a gentle nudge, appearing with her offering of pizza in hand. "You know, they didn't- They didn't tell me when it happened. I didn't find out until after the other night, or I would've…I just. I would've been there, you know?"
She picks her way around things, setting the pizza box down on one of the arcade machines before getting a closer look at him. "You kind of look like you could've used it."
A beat. "By which I mean you look like crap," she grins.
He doesn't respond to her statement about being there for him, other then shrugging a bare shoulder. "Shit happens." He makes his way back over to the couch, picking up his beer and taking a large pull from it. He peels his domino mask off, leaving just the blake make-up smeared around the eyes underneath, like any of the Bat Family.
"Probably figured I'd either never get out of prison, or I'd die off somewhere or kill myself. Figured they'd never have to tell you. Probably better off not knowing."
"Wow. That's…sad." Helena's certainly grown up, though she still looks young - long limbs with her mother's grace that haven't quite grown into her father's height. She's a slender, slightly awkward thing, but she's just as confident and self-sufficient as ever. And stubborn.
"I think they were scared. But it was a mistake." She's never been afraid to disagree with her parents either. Giving him another look, she sighs. "Okay, just…sit down," she waves toward one of the couches. "You're a mess. Where's the first aid kit?" she asks, stepping away from the game machine.
He looks like he's about to protest before he twists too hard and pain shoots through his side. "Fuck," he grunts. He sighs and plops down onto the couch. He drains the bottle of beer and sets it aside, as Mortal Kombat II idly replays the intro music on the old television. He rubs at his eyes before he points towards the armory. In a cabinet (Besides several cases of rock salt shotgun shells) is a well-stocked first aid kit.
"It's weird seeing you all grown up. Well, you're still a kid, but…older, you know?" Honestly, as weird as it is, they almost look the same age, even though she knows he is older.
"Yeah, well." Helena heads to the cabinet, opening it up and going through it a little more than is strictly necessary to locate the first aid kit. Because…well. Nosy. "I'd say something about the circle of life, but given your experiences, I'm not sure you'd get it." She smirks over her shoulder, finally dragging out the kit to bring it over.
"To hear Mom and Dad tell it, the last time you saw me you were trying to kill me. But I was just a kid and you still didn't manage, so I guess not that much changed with you coming back, right?" Not that she's implying it was any moral feeling that stopped him. More that she's settling into old habits of giving him crap and being competitive. Although he knows her well enough to know it's a choice.
"Got shot, didn't you?" she grimaces at the bruise.
"Actually, I'm stronger, faster and tougher. These bullets would have broken someone elses ribs instead of just bruised them. I can swing a motorcycle at someone if I push myself. It's…complicated…" He trails off and sighs as she comes close to tend to him. She'll notice he gives off a surprising amount of body heat, almost like running a high grade fever.
"What all did they tell you?," he asks, his voice small.
"Oh, good. You might be able to keep up with me." Helena has never been short on bravado. Digging out a jar of arnica, she smears some of it on the bruise with a practiced touch.
She sobers a bit at his question, letting out a slow breath and dropping the show enough to look up and meet his gaze. "Not much," she says honestly. "That you died, and Dad saw the body, and brought you home. But somehow someone brought you back, and you weren't all the way okay when you came back. That you shot Mom, and that you were the guy who came after me. That Dad put you into therapy, and that then you got out."
A grimace. "Probably because you didn't have any visitors like you might have had if they'd just told me." Hmph. "That's all though. There's clearly a lot of baggage involved."
"I woke up in my coffin," he says. It's the first time he's ever actually said it out loud. "I still don't know how or why, but I woke up in my coffin. I'd been dead for three years, but was fresh. I was…I had to use my belt buckle to chip at the coffin lid until I could get out. The dirt caved in on me. I had to dig my way out. It was raining. It was raining so hard." He glances down at his bruises as she works, holding her gaze very briefly.
"I wasn't all there. I couldn't…remember everything. I was listless. Violent. Like…some kind of animal. The Hand found me. They took me in and…put me in this thing." He shakes his head a bit. "It brought me back fully and made me better. They were the ones who…well. Everything else happened after that."
Helena is quiet as he explains, cleaning up the scrapes and bruises and bandaging up whatever needs it with the ease of long practice. There's some comfort in the familiar, after all.
"That sounds pretty terrible," she says quietly. "Can't really blame you for not being totally okay after that. Not that I did in the first place."
Shifting on the couch, she pulls one knee up toward her chest, propping her chin up on it. "I'm glad you're feeling good enough to be back. Back-ish," she offers, voice soft.
"Back-ish," he replies with a small nod. He reaches over to the counter and picks up a wrinkled pack of cigarettes, and a scuffed zippo. He lights a cigarette and leans back, staring up at the criss-crossing catwalks and the ceiling above. "I've been out doing the job and shit, but…" He shrugs a shoulder. "…I haven't fully settled in yet. Kind of waiting to see if Bruce is going to push me out of Staten before I…get too comfortable, I guess."
"They're both afraid you're still not okay." As if there was any question how they felt about the subject. Helena packs up the first aid kit - keeping an ace bandage in reserve - then stands up to put it back where she found it. Then it's over to the fridge to grab one of those bottles of beer.
…Which she promptly attempts to set aside the burgeoning black eye, shaking out the bandage. "And they'd probably flip if they knew I was here, but I'm kind of making a habit of doing what I want lately, so…"
"Smart. They do what they want anyways, so why not follow suit, right?," he grunts. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and sighs, before he glances over at her. He's quiet for a long moment before he simply asks, "You're…okay, right? I wasn't there for you when you were really growing up, and…"
Helena laughs softly, once she's managed to get him a cooling bottle of beer ice pack for his eye. "Yeah. Yeah, I recently described myself as remarkably well-adjusted," she says, rueful. She settles into one corner of the couch, knee drawn up toward her chest as she watches him. "Pretty sure we can thank Alfred for that. With a little help from Uncle Steve. I mean, I guess Mom and Dad didn't completely screw the pooch…"
"The only thing I've ever had to complain about in my life is that my parents didn't take me out to fight crime," she points out with a rueful twist of her lips. "But what about you, Jason? You seem to be coming back to you, but it doesn't make what you did go away. Are you dealing okay with that?"
He takes the beer and nods, holding it to his eye. "…Uncle Steve…," he mutters, as if that isn't someone he's thought of in a long time. He furrows his brow a bit at her question, and he finishes his cigarette, putting the butt out in an ashtray near the couch.
"I don't really sleep. I either can't, or the nightmares wake me up. I have a hard time keeping food down, and …well. Shit just gets more complicated then there." He brushes his fingers back through his hair, glancing over at her. "…But I'm dealing."
Helena arches a brow, looking thoroughly unconvinced. "Uh huh. All due respect, Jace, but that doesn't so much sound like 'dealing.'" She stretches out her leg enough to nudge him with her foot. "Speaking of Uncle Steve. He's got a fiancee. I think…I think it happened after you. But Bucky, his best friend, the one of the Howling Commandos everyone thought died? Turns out not so much. He spent most of the rest of the twentieth century as a brainwashed assassin."
She tilts her head, watching him carefully. "You think maybe talking to someone who's been there might help?"
"Always kinda figured Uncle Steve was asexual. Or, you know, in a committed relationship with America or something. Who is she…or he?" He says it with no judgement in his voice. He might be damaged and violent, but he's not a bigot, at least. "And hey, looks like him and I could be besties," he growls softly. "Therapy isn't really my thing. I tried it before, remember? The place dad put me? I'll figure it out on my own."
Helena's lips twitch with amusement. "He. It's Bucky." She shrugs, a small smile settling. "I don't really think therapy's his thing either. But you guys could probably do that thing where you sit quietly and don't say anything, then make small talk about guns or something. Manly silence." Lord knows there's always been enough of that in the Wayne household. It's practically the first tongue between Helena and her father, if you substitute guns for tactics.
She nudges again with her foot, a little harder. "Missed you. Think you can keep from trying to kill me long enough to actually spend some time together?"
"Oh! Huh. Well, I'm happy for them." He pulls the beer from his eye and flicks the non-twist cap off with a finger. That's not something humanly strong people can do. He takes a long pull on it and nods. "Well, I'll think about it," his Jason's only reply on talking to Bucky about problems. He pauses briefly at her last question, and he glances over at her.
"I'm never going to try and hurt you again, kiddo. Ever. And…if I have a say in it…I'm not going anywhere. We should hit Coney or something sometime. I ran into this cute merc there the other night, actually. She's going to call me some time to go patrolling with her. Something about seeing if I'm worthy of 'being invited to the party' or something, once she said she brings the party with her. Pretty sure she wants me," he says, grinning lopsidedly. The story is true, but he's clearly trying to gross out his little sister with the idea of him being intimate or something. Typical sibling shit.
Helena rolls her eyes dramatically. "What'd she do, take out her headphones to talk to you?" she drawls, smirking as she hops up to retrieve the pizza. Now that death is off the table, clearly it's time for a snack. "The universal sign of desire. Oh baby, oh baby, oh," she deadpans, winking as she settles back in with the pizza and flips the lid open to offer him a piece first.
"Oh, or was it eye contact? I know that gets you boys all hot and bothered…"
"Nah, she tried to punch me. And she stole one of my cigarettes and did that whole 'lean in to light her cigarette on mine' thing. There -was- eye contact, but only some. She only has one eye," he admits. He leans forward as the pizza box is open, peering in to judge her choice of pizza toppings.
Helena pauses, squinting slightly. "Really super blonde? Very cranky? Occasionally violent but mostly aimed at people who probably deserve at least a little bit of it?"
There's nothing but pepperoni on the pizza, but if he takes too long to get to it, she'll reach in and grab a slice for herself. But it's classic New York pizza, ready to be folding in half for a bite.
He considers that a bit and then nods. "Sounds about right. You forgot 'really hot', too. Went by Ravager." He looks a big judgey on her pie choice, but doesn't comment. He does reach in to take a slice and fold it in the proper New York fashion, taking a bite.
"Rose Wilson," Helena counters, speculative. "I met her. As me. She's…sharp." And as always, that's a double-edged sword. "I'm not sure that she bought I got lucky flinging a piece of wood after some bullies that were picking on a guy and trying to take his busking money. But I've run into her a couple times. I think we're friends?"
She squints again as she thinks it over. "I'm also not one hundred percent sure she 'gets' friends, so it's probably close enough." Taking a bite of her pizza, she nods to herself, then grins with her cheeks full. "She's way too hot for you."
He smirks a bit at that, clearly taking that as a challenge. "She is -not- too hot for me." He sits up and takes another bite of pizza, washing it down with his beer. "She mentioned running into Dick, by the way. She's not a fan. I mean, who -is-, right?," he teases lightly. He finishes the slice and pauses, closing his eyes. If what he said earlier is true he won't hold it down for forever, but he's handling it for now.
"Aw, c'mon. Dick's not…the worst." Okay, he might be the worst, at least when it comes to making comparisons. Helena takes another bite, then laughs. "Yeah, no. I can see where she would not particularly care for him. Probably because he wouldn't much care for her, and you know Dick. He's got that gift for letting you know you're a disappointment to the world without saying it out loud."
Jason chuckles at that, and it's his only response to the statement. He doesn't take another slice of pizza. Instead he picks up the controller and then kneels, plugging in a second one. He drops it into her lap before he winces with a drop back onto the couch. He starts the game and scrolls to multiplayer.
"So, what now?" It's a broad question.
Helena sets the pizza box aside to take the controller in one hand, eating her pizza with the other. "Dunno," she shrugs. "You want me to not tell Mom and Dad we talked?" she asks, looking over with a quirk of her brow. "Your call."
He blinks at that and is quiet for a long time. He selects Johnny Cage as his fighter and puts a bit of work into the fight, mostly distracted. "Go for it." He's not good at talking to them, and is kind of hoping she'll fill them in on the things he's said instead of him having to do it himself.
"'Kay." There's a reason Steve calls her 'babblebat': Batman to normal human translation is really Helena's secret superpower. And if there's anyone who can match Bruce for stubborn, it's his daughter. "Hey, so, speaking of dating and stuff," she says, shoving the last of the pizza crust into her mouth to use both hands for the game. "Did you ever try to really date someone while keeping the whole secret identity thing private?"
He considers her question as he nurses his beer and plays the game. "A few times. It's not impossible, but it can be hard. But there's a reason why most of our kind usually end up with others like us…if anyone. Someone you can confide in. Otherwise it's…well…just gaslighting, right?"
Helena wrinkles her nose. "Yeah. Kind of the awkward part." She huffs, jabbing an elbow at his (unbruised) ribs to distract him. "Who'm I asking? Not like anyone's dating you. Your girlfriends were probably all in Canada or something." Easier than explaining or admitting to the whole mess.
He flails and laughs as she jabs at him, and he reaches out to tickle her where only a teasing older brother would about! His other hand button-mashes. "Hey, I used to drive Bruce and Selina crazy by sneaking out at night to see girls!" Okay, he's exaggerating a bit, but not a ton!
"Just because you met them doesn't mean they liked it," Helena snickers, scrunching up her side to limit the available space without letting go of her controller. "Mom and Dad probably let you do it just so you could practice your tracking and lock-picking." Shots fired! Unfortunately, she can't really follow up on that one, because between the tickling and her own joke, she's cracking up. "Jason's out looking for girls again. Good, maybe he'll actually manage to find one."
He tickles her a bit more and smirks, glancing over at the screen. "I'm totally going to hook up with that merc-girl for that. Your only friend." She likely isn't her only friend, but a jab is a jab! He pulls back and smirks as she manages to finish him off in the fight. "Bah." He sets the controller down and drains his beer.
"Only friend!" Helena protests with a laugh. "That's not true! I have-" And then she pauses, only to drop her head into her hands, laughing in dismay. "Oh my god, you're not wrong," she snickers. "Seriously. My list of friends is like…Rose. And this girl Anya. I mean, there's Peter, of course. And then literally everyone else I only know through the family, or heroes, or in the mask. Not that 'through the family' isn't a huge category on its own, but…man. I do need more friends."
"Eh, unless you have some," he grunts. He rises to his feet and stretches with a wince. "Okay. Enough of a break. I dropped a tracker on a car earlier tonight and I should follow up on that…" Jason trails off, making his way over to the weaponry bench. He picks up a shotgun and checks it over. "We should…I don't know. Get dinner sometime or something."
"What you should do is go to sleep," Helena chides lightly, sliding the leftover pizza into the fridge. It may not stay down long, but eating is important. And it's an expression of caring, even if he doesn't eat it. Maybe just seeing the box there will remind him he's not alone.
"But I'm not the boss of you, so." She steps over to him, setting one hand on her hip before gesturing between the two of them. "Hug tax before you go out. Then I'll give you the number so you can call when you wanna go out. Whether it's for dinner or punching things, because I've got my own punching things setup now."
He reaches out an arm to give her a side-hug. He catches the thing about her punching things, and he mentally jots that down to bug her about when he doesn't have a date with back-alley violence. "I'll sleep at some point," he grunts, sound an awful lot like a certain pointy-cowled-menace. "Be safe. See you sometime soon."