Post by The Wonderful Wachter on Mar 13, 2012 2:33:03 GMT -5
[highlight=blue]Blüdhaven, New Jersey
Offices of Mangrove Pierce[/highlight]
They say your psychiatrist’s office is supposed to put you at ease. It is supposed to make you feel comfortable, make you relax. This is the place you come to open up about your feelings. This is where you lay back and spit out all your deepest, darkest secrets so they could be judged by a professional who knew how to nod his head and go “yes.” It’s the first thing you see that lets you judge him or her in return. Nevertheless, Dr. Pierce’s office accomplished nothing of the sort. It did nothing to help keep Grayson calm and in touch with his inner demons.
The curtains were far too dark. Barely any sunlight flickered across the morbidly decorated room with its gothic furnishings that dated back to a time before Grayson had been born. Then there was Pierce himself, sitting high and mighty behind his desk, his pallor so pale it could practically glow. His skin made his white shirt seem a shade darker. Eggshellish.
It was no small feat that Grayson had managed to avoid standard appointments with a shrink for over sixteen years. Especially when one took the time to consider the tragedy that had sent him on the rollercoaster ride to this moment in his life. He loathed talking about his feelings. Something about the way he had been raised, the life of a Romani and all, made him keep his secrets as deep as they could be. No need to talk. Just smash and act.
“You’re not going to sign off on returning me to active duty, are you?” Grayson complained lazily, body reclined on the lounger as far away from the doc as he could possibly get.
“Why do you think I should?” Pierce always spoke with that clipped Jersey accent. Offsetting considering his appearance. Black hair, blue eyes, chiseled handsome features. . . he could be taken as one of them but he just didn’t dress or act the right way.
“Cause I’m one of the few good cops and the Haven needs men like me,” when Pierce failed to respond, he hastened to add, “and because I’m fit as fiddle, physically and mentally.”
An arched brow. “What does your physical therapist say?”
“Elaine,” he said in a leading tone, “thinks I’m in better shape than any other man she has ever had the pleasure to work with.” Without pausing to take a single breath in his speech, Grayson reached behind his head to grab the headrest, flipped over to do a one handed stand on the edge for a good, long second, before finishing his summersault with a flourish, landing on his left leg, arms outstretched and head bowed. He still remembered the pose. Even after all these years, he could still hear the applause between his ears.
Pierce’s brow never dropped. His eyes zeroed in on Grayson’s right leg, which the man promptly lowered with his most charming smile. The smile failed and he sighed, falling backwards over and onto the lounger, determinedly not wincing with the pain it brought to his lower body. No weakness. Never weak.
“The trouble is, I believe the implications of your implied boast,” the psychiatrist shuffled the papers on his oaken desk bigger than Mari’s bed, “but her report says differently. Your right leg might never be the same. Certainly not at the level you were a year ago, let alone a decade.”
“Please, even with one good leg, I could outrun and flip circles over all the other bulls.”
“What have I said about evasion, Richard?”
“That if I were better at it, I wouldn’t be in this situation. Those bullets would have missed me by a mile.” There was no hiding his cocky smirk at the joke.
“This is no laughing matter.”
Grayson sighed and put his arms behind his head. When would his hour be up? It could never come too soon. When he had first started coming here, he said nothing to Pierce, who in turn said nothing to him. Man was as patient as the dead. Then that became boring and he flinched. He started his talking mostly trivial bull kind of stuff, but he talked. And eventually that nonsense gave way to talking about some of the certainties in his life. Certainties like the fact that the longest lasting female presence in his life had been his apartment super and that he had classic signs of using humor as deflection.
The former realization had shut him up for a good long week. He had never thought about it before. Never thought about the effect it might have had on his daughter. But hey, at least her babysitter was that woman.
“This is ridiculous,” the cop muttered. “You’re using Elaine as an excuse to keep me at a desk if I go back, and she uses you as an excuse to keep seeing me. I know how to take care of my mind and body. Been doing it for most of my life.”
“I have spoken to you ab—“
“No hypnosis, Doc,” Grayson thumped his chest in self-appreciation. “Raised by the circus, remember? I don’t trust that nonsense.”
“Then you’ll just have to open up on your own.”
Oh, Grayson was so ready to open up at that very moment, mostly with a few choice expletives, but then the ancient wooden clock in the corner dinged that today’s session was over. Just what he was waiting for. He determinedly jumped off the lounger, purposely landing on both legs with force. Masking the pain, he gave Pierce a two-fingered salute. “Until next week, Doc.”
He was almost to the door when Pierce did that annoying cough for attention people do when they have one last thing to say. He wondered what mental-mumbo-jumbo could be said about that passive aggressive cry to be noticed. Turning, he looked at the man’s eyes, for a second mistaking them for black depths he could lose himself in.
“One last thing, Richard… Why is it you needed your prescription filled twice this month?” A lesser man would have smiled in victory at the small point being driven home in such an efficient manner.
“No reason. No reason at all.”
With that, Grayson left the office without the appearance of haste. It wasn’t until he was down on the garbage-strewn street, the smog of the Haven filling his lungs that he picked up his pace. And even then, he waited until he was out of the sight of Pierce’s windows before rubbing his leg.
---
The public schooling in Blüdhaven had never been something to brag about. In fact… it had become something of a contest to figure out which school had both the worst reputation and staff...which had the most offensive graffiti…which had more complaints about abusive teachers.... but it was all Grayson could provide for his daughter. It had been his dream to give her something better, to get her into the elite Elliot Academy, yet that was out of his reach.
Sure both Richard, his former guardian, and he had the sort of reputation that would have got them a meeting with the admissions office, yet neither man had been good at managing their finances. Prize fighters. Champion fighters both. Even a few endorsement deals when they had been younger, but today they struggled to get by. Richard had made the offer back before the crash to sell his studio, but Grayson had steadfastly refused to accept such charity. Now he regretted it.
With Richard gone and out of town to God knows where, the studio sat empty. No students. No teacher. Just a big waste of space.
Selling it would have paid for at least a few years worth of tuition.
Grayson continue to wait outside the school entrance where the walkers were released as the regret filled his gut. The faculty appreciated his presence there. They knew he was a cop. Trusted that on the walk home for those who lived nearby, he’d keep watch over the children. Better than most parents. Just not something you could rely on in this day and age. Used to be a kid could walk to school without worrying about some pedophile or kidnapper or a driveby – well, maybe in cities other than the Haven – but not anymore.
There was only so much the crossing guard could keep an eye on.
Speaking of eyes, a brunette caught his. She had a curvy body, one that had probably been exceedingly thin prior to childbirth, but never quite returned to that goal weight. Still, she looked good. And every day, she tried something different to grab his attention - walking with him to escort the kids, wearing a tad bit more make-up, laughing too much at his corniest jokes. It all reeked of desperation.
Grayson called on a memory trick every cop developed to remember key facts. Twenty-nine, had a daughter a grade below Mari. Once was married and still thought about it based on the way she would sometimes unconsciously rub her ring-finger. Husband… likely cheated on her if he had to make his best guess. She put up with it for a few years until finally kicking him to the curb and trying to raise her daughter on her own.
Well, he could relate to the difficulties the last one presented. He was terrified about the next few years. As much as he loved Mari, he couldn’t help but wish she had been born a boy. The coming talks would be beyond awkward. As would asking Clancy or his former partner Amy to help him with it.
Oh god, he could feel the blush making its way to his face, and the brunette smiled, thinking it was her doing. Since being released from the hospital, he had shaved off all the scruff on his face without delay. On the other hand, a little less work had gone into his hair. He had started growing it out, not worrying about any uniform protocols anymore. His jaw still maintained its classic heroic profile, though he had lost some muscle mass. Seemed he was reverting back to his youth. More lean than he had been in years. Almost felt like he could go back and swing his way across the rafters again.
Just wasn’t confident he could still stick the landing.
The brunette watched as his gray v-neck stretched to hold in his muscles as he crossed his arms and waited for the final bell to ring. The longer he stood there, the more annoyed he got with his last session. The more annoyed he got, the more he considered using the brunette’s – Ah, Morgan was her name – offer for a playdate to lead to something more between the two of them.
He did need to settle down. Might even need to adjust his career goals if they wouldn’t let him return to the force proper. Something had to be done to keep him and his daughter off the street.
Those desperate eyes sought his…
Eh… maybe he’d give it another month. He hadn’t reached the point where he wanted to be the father figure to two girls.
The bell finally rang. Students began filing their way out, laughing and talking loudly as the teachers tried to shepherd them out of the building and under the overhead awnings of the outdoor halls. Like always, it was easy to spot his daughter. A fourth grader that was almost a head above the rest. Her fine black hair was streaked through with red, meriting a frown on his lips and a wrinkle in his brow. When did that happen? She wore a simple long-sleeve blue shirt, and if she continued to take after her mother, would be too cute for her own good.
A boy was walking next to her, making his daughter laugh. He recognized the unruly blond hair and the near constant presence of a Band-Aid on his cheek. His gray-checkered windbreaker was a size too small, but he seemed comfortable enough with the fact. Colin Wilkes… Amy and Grayson had worked on his case. Testified against the boy’s parents. Put him in the foster system and here he was… making friends with Grayson’s little princess.
He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
Soon enough, Grayson ruffled his daughter’s hair, much to her annoyance, and greeted Colin with the pleasantries he couldn’t quite get rid of while out of uniform. Made sure to ask how his foster family was. Noted the averted eyes. Tried to pry more but by then the other kids had gathered leaving Morgan and no choice but to take over the task of nudging the children across the street and to their respective homes.
He assured the single – she somehow managed to hint that into the conversation – mother that he did in fact have her number, and would give her a call if Mari wanted to hang out with Devin before the woman and her daughter went into their building. Eventually they reached 1013 Parkthorne Avenue where the Grayson family called their own. He had his daughter knock on the super’s door and wait with her while he finished walking the rest home.
A block away and it was just him and Colin. “I can make the rest of the way, myself, Officer Grayson.”
“It’s just Mr. now.”
The boy shrugged as if to say once a cop, always a cop to him. “If you say so.”
“You doing okay, kid?”
“Better.”
“What happened to your cheek?”
Colin had taken a step to continue on alone but stopped to answer. “Bullies. Not anything for you to worry about, Mr. Grayson. I’m not your responsibility anymore.”
Grayson watched him go, the inklings of an idea starting to form in the back of his head. There was nothing more he’d love to do than return to the force, but pretty much everyone was telling him to hang his head down, take the disability check, and do nothing else for the rest of his life. But where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement? How could his daughter look up to him while he sat on his ass all day?
---
“C’mon, Amy. You’re up for promotion. Ethan’s already a lieutenant. Can’t one of you pull a few strings?” Grayson hissed quietly into the receiver, far away from his daughter and where she was doing her homework. She’d be just as happy if he never returned to the Force after seeing him in the hospital like that.
“You burned a lot of bridges, partner. And Redhorn has never liked you.”
“Redhorn is an incompetent ass that couldn’t find enough evidence on my parent’s murderer to put him behind bars.”
“See… That’s the attitude that makes him hate you,” Amy laughed without any mirth. “We’ve done what we could. I told you that. A desk job is a best you can hope for. Maybe you should just take it if you can’t handle the boredom of sleeping all day.”
Grayson stopped himself from punching the wall. Barely had enough to cover the rent this month, he’d never be able to afford the repair costs. “You and I both know that a desk job in the Haven is more a death sentence than working the beat. Sit in it long enough, and your ass fuses to it. Soon after that, a doughnut becomes permanently attached to your hand and a heart attack is on the horizon.”
“Then just keep seeing your shrink and going to PT. Best case is you have to wait another month at least.”
“I’m tired of waiting!” he screamed, once again stopping himself short of letting his anger control him. In the background, he heard the scratching of a pencil stop. “Sorry. It’s just—“
“Dick… Maybe it’s better for you and Mari if you don’t come back. You’ve already had one close call. What happens if you don’t come out of it next time?”
“Says the woman with two children and a husband at home.”
Amy’s reply was full of the ire only a female could pull off. “That’s right. I have a husband. I get killed in the line of duty and my kids still have one parent left. You? You’re alone. And you’re willing to leave your daughter alone just so you can feel like you’re accomplishing something with your life? That maybe, one day, if you work hard enough, you’ll put Tony Zucco behind bars?”
Silence met the end of her rant.
“That was uncalled for. I’m… I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” Grayson growled. “If you say so. I’ll talk to you later… I do have some work that I need to do.”
He hung up the phone without waiting for a goodbye and became aware that Mari was standing in his doorway, watching him. His daughter stared up at him, the red streaks in her hair all the more evident close up. How could he miss that when he was here nearly all day? When she wasn’t asleep, he was here. When she was at school, he was here.
How did he miss his daughter dying her hair? Why would he even let his ten year old do so?
“Is everything okay?” her voice was melodic, just like her mother’s.
“Yes, sweetie. Amy’s just having trouble with certain things.”
“Oh,” Mari’s face was crestfallen, and he could sense she knew he wasn’t telling her the whole truth. “Does this mean we won’t be going over there this weekend? No offense, daddy, but Mr. Rohrbach is a way better cook than you. His steaks actually taste good.” She stuck her tongue out to add to the insult.
Grayson affected the look of a father whose pride had been wounded. He scooped his daughter up in his arms, refusing to let the pain in his leg show as it shot up his spine, and spun her around to hear her squeals of glee. “I’ll show you who’s the better cook!”
“Knowing the lady that makes the pizza downstairs doesn’t make you the better cook.”
Of all the things Mari could have inherited from him, why did she have to take after him in the wit department? Now he knew how his parents and Richard must have felt raising him all those years. Nothing worse than kid with a sharp tongue and the added ability to twist that knife in your back ever deeper.
---
The blocky building stood empty as personal planes soared overhead to come down for a landing less than a mile away. Not the most peaceful place to study various martial arts but the land was all his… Well, it was all Richard’s. Grayson just kept an eye on it whenever his teacher vanished for months at a time. It was here, beneath the arched roof of a gymnasium sized room, he had recovered from his parents deaths. It was where he overcame his fear of heights, of falling, when Richard installed trapeze equipment just for him.
Up there, he stopped thinking of falling, of his wings getting clipped. He remembered the awesomeness of flying; the sheer thrill of pulling off the quadruple somersault. Richard had done that for him, asking nothing in return. But Grayson still repaid him. He became the best student the Dragon ever had… the son he never had.
Yet now Richard’s studio remained empty. About once a month, he came over, usually with Clancy and Mari, and cleaned it. Every other week, he made sure no squatters called it home like he was doing now before his shift was due to start.
Grayson unlocked the chains on the front door without hesitation, lost in thought and unaware he forgot to do a perimeter sweep. His mind kept going back to Colin, back to the inklings of an idea. A crazy idea but one he was seriously considering nevertheless.
His skill may have dulled over the years. Might not be as fast or as nimble as he was back when he was seventeen. And it was true that he hadn’t kept up with his training as much as he should have once he joined the B.P.D. but he still considered himself a master martial artist. He could easily pass on what he had learned. And maybe in doing so, he’d find that peace he had lost along the way.
His footsteps echoed around the atrium. He stuck his head into the equipment room right off the entrance way to find everything still in storage. Net rolled up. Weapons secured and locked away. Still, he poked and prodded every corner. Last time he had been here, Grayson ended up pulling the sidearm he wasn’t supposed to have on a bum who had broken in. Only Mari by his side had stopped him from shooting… Probably should have told his psychiatrist about that.
He made his way down the long hall, sunlight fading behind him. A feeling of longing rushed through him at the sight of Richard’s empty, utilitarian furnished room. It had been over a year since he had last seen his mentor. A little less than that since they spoke. And no one had been able to get in contact with him while Grayson had been in his coma. A part of him felt he should have been worried. Yet an equal part acknowledged that Richard did this… he traveled parts of the world that man had forgot all about. Wasn’t that unusual.
The gymnasium, the studio proper, the dojo. Whatever you call it. Grayson stepped through the double doors and his eyes first noticed the giant pole leading to a platform on high. Little Elliot had called it the “Robin’s Nest” whenever he wasn’t saying “Dickie-Birds Hidey-Hole.” Grayson could always be found roosting there back when they were both kids. Sometimes he’d have the bars setup. Sometimes the tightrope.
You could take the boy out of the circus but you couldn’t take the circus out of the boy. Richard had shown him that.
He took another step into vast room, the setting sun casting long shadows from the windows above. He lifted his foot for a third, instantly recognizing something was wrong. There was something sticking to the bottom of his shoe. Scowling, Grayson pulled it off.
It was skin toned colored. A three by three size patch. Almost resembled a nicotine patch in Grayson’s mind but it wasn’t like any he had seen before.
Hair standing up on the back of his neck, his nostrils flared, catching the iron scent of blood. His eyes were slow to notice the stained mat before him. Okay… what were the chances the squatter coughed up blood in his sleep?
A soft crushing sound rebounded off the walls and he heard a quick inhalation of a breath.
His hand strayed to his empty belt out of reflex. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble. Just vacate the premises and I’ll look the other way.”
Silence. Grayson peered into the shadows, looking for anything. A sign… Something. But there was nothing. No steps or more breathing after what he had first heard. Then, a figure leapt out the darkness, higher and farther than a normal person should have been able to jump. It landed in a crouch and revealed itself to be a shirtless man covered in the scars and bruises of many, many brawls.
“Dick… Grayson,” he intoned in a growl. “The Lesser Dragon.”
“I don’t know about Lesser anything but yeah, that’s me.” Unconsciously, he shrugged out of his jacket as instinct took over. He knew a challenge when he heard it.
The man was fast… really fast. He rushed Grayson without a second’s hesitation. Just as quickly, Grayson whipped his jacket in front of the man’s face and springboarded off the ground and over the head of the charging bull. His weight came down on his right leg, nearly causing him to crumple to floor but he recovered by changing it into a dive that pushed him back into the man, his good leg colliding with the brawler’s back.
Stumbling, the man spun to face his foe, pupils dilating. He jumped forward. Grayson jumped back. The man’s fist slammed into the floor shattering it as Grayson bounced off the mat… That was not normal.
Without thinking anymore on the subject, Grayson launched himself forward before the man could recover and rammed him headfirst in the midsection. Though the man had the wind knocked out of him, Grayson felt like he just headbutted a brick wall. His skull exploded into fireworks of pain as his vision swam. Momentum carried both men farther and Grayson made sure it was the shirtless man who would slam into the ground first. They fell hard through double doors and Grayson prepared himself to hit a pressure point to end the fight instantly or at least give him some breathing room.
It wasn’t going to happen.
The man had his feet beneath Grayson before he knew it and kicked out with the force of a horse. The former cop flew, literally flew, back through the double doors and into the air. He would have kept flying, possibly breaking his back against one of the poles had he not reached out and caught the ladder leading up to the platform and swinging back down to the floor. His ribs hurt but otherwise he was okay as he could be in his injured state.
Tearing the doors off and tossing them away, the intruder growled his intent. Grayson remained unimpressed.
A second charge only this time the other was ready for the fighter to dodge out of the way just as Grayson knew he would. That was why he changed the playing field and scrambled up the hanging ladder only to jump down a second later when the man stopped and catch his head between his legs. An impressive set of moves sent the man the spiraling head over heels as Grayson flipped him off his feet.
His foe tried to struggle to his feet but Grayson was on him. Without knowing exactly what it would take to bring the intruder down for good given his superhuman abilities, the fighter fell back on the one thing everyone was weak to. He slammed his knee into the man’s back before he could finish rising and winced in agony as the pain almost finished him off instead. But he fought through it and grasped the man’s head.
Then he smashed it into the floor.
And he smashed it again.
Over and over yet the intruder would not go down. He struggled, trying to throw Grayson off but this was one bucking bronco he would not let go. Eventually the man stopped his thrashing, a pool of blood finally showing just what kind of damage had been done.
Grayson fell back, only remembering a few seconds later to flip the man over and make sure he wasn’t dying. There was blood on his hands, not his blood, but blood. First time in long time he had taken someone down with his bare hands. His body shook as the adrenalin left him. The real pain followed an instant later. His leg screamed at him. His shoulder cried out for relief.
Fighting back sobs, Grayson crawled to his phone, left in his jacket, to make the call he hated making. He had to call the police. He had a report to make.
---
Suffice to say, he was late to work. Old colleagues of his had arrived within the hour. They cuffed the intruder, who amazing didn’t need to go to the hospital… something that should have been impossible but he could have said that about a lot of the things that man did. They took his statement and given his history, didn’t bother with anything else. If he said the man broke in and attacked him then the man broke in and attacked him. That was that. No Haven cop would ever say differently. . . unless there was money changing hands involved.
He wiped off the bar counter without much interest given the excitement early on in his evening. One thing you could count on here at Hogan’s Alley was that the customers would never order something so complicated as to have required you to be some stupid mixologist who passed bartending school with honors. Cops kept it simple. Draft. Frosted. Bottle. Scotch… Simple. And every once in awhile he’d have to mind the grill in the back.
Not that often though.
Mari had been right. Cooking was not his forte.
Tonight was no different. Hank Hogan, the Hogan of Hogan’s Alley, was a retired officer himself. He looked out for his own. He provided for his own. And he made sure none of them ever drove home drunk. A lot of his customers thought of him as one of the last of a dying breed. A tough as nails cop that somehow remained honest and he would tolerate nothing else among his clientele. He would not have some drunk driver tarnish the already shady reputation the Force had.
Swarthy complexion and a mustache that refused to be shaved, Hogan was a lot kinder than he looked. In reality, he was a big man, his gut as big as his heart. He paid Grayson under the table. And everyone looked the other way whenever he was recognized as that idiot who got caught in crossfire between Angel Marin’s gang, the Loners, a Red Hood, and Deathstroke.
Here, Grayson made enough money to put clothes on the back of his rapidly growing daughter and keep himself from going crazy with boredom. Though it did hurt to hear all his fellow brothers in blue come in and trade stories only to know he could not be a part of them. Amy was right in her own brick to the face kind of way. He still dreamed of taking Zucco down. Even if Zucco had gone north to Gotham for the time being.
A hush fell over the normally rowdy bar. Billiards stopped bouncing about. Darts thudded one last time. All eyes turned to the door and the man who had entered. The man had that kind of presence. His perfectly groomed mustache and goatee demanded it. His build required it. This was not a man you crossed. His eye took everything in with a single glance. The noise returned though with a hint of disquiet remaining.
Slade Wilson walked straight up to the counter, dressed much the same as he had been when Grayson had woke from his coma. He sat down, promptly making the boys in blue nearest him get up and leave. Seemed the story had spread and the entire department knew of his presence in their not-so-fair city.
“You do know this is a cop bar, right?” Grayson inquired his tone a tad bit frosty as he slid down the counter to do his job.
“I was cop once. Military police,” the eyepatch somehow accented the smirk. “Worked with a few names you might remember. Or a few you might not believe.”
“Oh?” shifting his weight to lean on the bar, Grayson thanked his doctor for the pills that kept him currently on his feet.
“There was this guy named Harper. We competed for the same special task force. I won and somehow he became the President.”
Grayson barked out a choking laugh. “Riiiiiiiight. World’s most famous bounty hunter and mercenary knows the President of the United States.”
“Who do you think hires me the most?” he reached into his coat pocket to pull out a wallet. “Now shouldn’t you be opening a tab?”
“Fine…Okay. Who else?”
“Father of a young red head who once had a crush on you…”
“That’s a rather specific description.”
Slade settled back into his stool, still smirking. “I do my research. And I have to ask myself, just what the hell The Second Coming of the Dragon is doing in a dive of a bar, scrubbing counters and listening to police gossip.”
A glare passed between the two men. Grayson’s past was no secret. Half the Department knew about his career as a teenager. A quarter of them once worked on the case involving his parents’ death and Haly’s Circus. And over the years, he did gain a reputation for chasing down perps on foot without a need to use lethal force. Yet the fact Deathstroke had taken a special interest in him, disturbed him to his core.
What’s more… he had been asking himself that very same question. And after taking down that bastard earlier, he had to wonder why he put up with it.