FIC Title: Night of the Demon's Head's Revenge
Title: Night of the Demon's Head's Revenge
Author: Ivybramble
Fandom: Justice Riders Elseworld
Rating: PG
Summary: When Ra's al Ghul escapes from prison, Special Government Agents James Jesse and Hartley Rathaway find themselves caught up in a deadly game...
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money.
Special Government Agent James T. Jesse was not having a good day. In fact, he was willing to go so far as to label the day he'd been having as horrendous, even by the incredibly high standards he and his partner kept on that sort of thing. The last thing he remembered before waking up in the seemingly deserted town of Paradox was trying to return a young lady's handbag to her...followed by a great deal of bluish smoke. When he'd awoken in the middle of the street he'd discovered that his clothes (and also all the useful gear he kept hidden inside them) had been replaced by the type of rough, nondescript, dark garments he'd expect to find on a hired gun. He was armed but that didn't do much good when there was, seemingly, no one to shoot at. But there was more to it than that...something sinister was at work here. He couldn't put his finger on it...but he could feel it in his bones.
The Boy Wonder watched the man in green's rapid preparations with a mixture of bemusement and consternation. "Don't you think that you're over reacting a mite? Even the Bat didn't think..." Blue eyes freed from their green glass prison pinned him like a butterfly to a button board.
" I. Am. Not. Over reacting. The Bat wasn't the one who put Ra's al Ghul behind bars. James is. The Demon's Head has a long memory and a longer arm. I intend to get on that horse, ride out to the way station and find out why my partner did not arrive on the stage like he said he would."
He wasn't alone. The throb of the bullet wound in his leg was a constant reminder. But the other presences were elusive. It was like trying to catch your own shadow. He'd returned fire naturally, but the body that had fallen into the street had turned out to be a mannequin. A mannequin dressed up to look like him. Somebody had gone to a great deal of trouble to set up this twisted little funhouse for him. If he could only figure out who he might have a better chance of staying alive. The trouble was that the list of people who would like to see him dead or worse was a mite longer than the average individual's. He was still going through his mental checklist when the girl ran headlong into him.
"Oh take your hands off of me this instant!"
"Glad to. Just as soon as you tell me what you're doing here."
"I...got lost."
"You got lost?"
"Well if you must know I ran away. Daddy was being ever so overbearing. There was someone, a gentleman I was fond of...but Daddy didn't approve. Daddy never approves. He swore that he'd kill him if he ever came back for me and..."
"And so you ran away to save him from your father." Before he'd become a government employee (and, if one were totally honest, even afterwards) James Jesse had built himself a reputation for being the best damn con-man in the Territories if not the whole of the United States. He hadn't done so by being gullible. Her story was true as far as it went...but it would be suicidally stupid to believe that she was telling him everything.
"Do you live...you're hurt!"
"Believe me I've had worse."
"Regardless that needs to be tended. Please, won't you let me help you Mister..?"
"Jesse. James Jesse. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" There was something about her. Something about her smile was...familiar. If only he could figure out why.
"My name is Talia."
Why was it that the individuals chosen for local positions of authority were always so very thickheaded? "Look friend I'm not asking for much here. Just the answer to one, simple little question. Did you or did you not see a slick looking blonde gentleman in a blue suit and a yellow vest?"
"Pardon me. I could not help but overhear. The gentleman you are searching for is a Mr. James Jesse? Special Government Agent? Which would mean that you must be his partner, Mr. Rathaway." Hartley whirled around and found himself confronted with a somehow familiar looking statuesque woman of Asian decent. He managed to get one hand on his flute before a dart buried itself in his neck and the world started spinning. "I would be most pleased to escort you to your friend." Shiva, he remembered the name in the dossier as the darkness closed in, Lady Shiva...Creator...and Destroyer.
The message hadn't been there the last time he was in the saloon. Someone was playing games alright...and he was beginning to see a glimmer of who. 'Dear Mr. Jesse. I am sure that you understand that a man of my reputation cannot allow the insult you have paid me to pass uncensored. Unlike the majority of the adversaries you have dealt with in the past, I do not believe in making grandiose, melodramatic threats or indeed threats of any kind. Thus you may take what follows as a statement of fact...At noon tomorrow you will die, hating yourself for what you have done.' There was only one individual in his mental index of people-with-reasons-to-want-him-killed-in-an-extremely-painful-and-elaborate-way who would genuinely consider a message like that not to be a grandiose, melodramatic threat... Ra's al Ghul. He was in Very. Deep. Trouble.
"What do you think it means James?"
"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about." He knew that his efforts to hide how much every step was paining him were falling short but he couldn't seem to muster the energy for a more convincing performance. Probably a long lasting side effect of that damned knock-out gas.
"We still need to find something to dress that leg. There must be a General Store..."
"There is, three buildings down on the left. I'll..."
"No. You just rest. I'll go." James would have argued but he couldn't seem to find the strength. He wasn't sure how long Talia had been gone before a scream sent him leaping out the door in time to witness, but helpless to prevent, the shot. Something sharp hit him in the neck before he could get to her side...and then the world went black.
Floyd Lawton was bored. If it hadn't been for the sheer amount of capital that creepy old man in the cape had offered him, he would never have taken the job in the first place. Seemed strange that the head of an Assassins League needed to bring in a hired gun. But after sampling the character of the membership, particularly that Oriental woman who was always trailing three steps behind al Ghul, Floyd had realized what the problem was. The idiots wouldn't do the job because they felt there wasn't any honour in it. Honour was not something Floyd counted among his vices. He did a job, exactly as specified and he got paid. The rumble of an approaching stage sounded from outside the saloon. Showtime. Smirking at the unconscious blonde in an outfit identical to his own, Deadshot sauntered out to get the party started.
Hartley Rathaway was still disoriented when he awoke to find himself sprawled out on the seat of what appeared to be a stage. Even his clothing felt odd, ill fitting somehow in a way that even his disguises never were. The Piper staggered out of the stage in an attempt to get his bearings. And nearly had his head taken off by an unprovoked shot fired by a man in dark clothing who beat a hasty retreat back into the saloon. Drawing his own side arm with a muttered curse Hartley Rathaway dove to find better cover.
It was the shot that woke him...with the memory of a scream and a fallen girl following hard on it's heals. James Jesse snatched his gun from it's holster and advanced quickly but cautiously on the door of the saloon. There wasn't anyone in the street...that he could see. The Trickster dove out into the sunlight and nearly had his head taken off by an unprovoked shot fired from the opposite side of the street. A shot fired by a man in a green cape. Ra's. By his reckoning it was long past time to put the Demon's Head's rumoured immortality to the test. He fired two shots in rapid succession to draw the other man out...and scored a direct hit in the leg on the third.
The wound burned with a pain so intense that it left Hartley's eyes watering. Adrenaline lent him the strength to rise before the shooter could inflict any further damage and force the other man to seek cover with a rapid round of returned fire. Until a terribly ill timed yet familiar click told him that he was out of ammunition. Dammit all! A quick survey of his surrounding revealed that the sheriff's office was only a building away. There had to be guns in there. Desperate to buy himself time enough to get inside the building Hartley flung the emptied gun at his opponent while simultaneously diving for the door.
What kind of an idiot threw his own gun away? If he hadn't currently been engaged in a fight for his life the Trickster would have laughed at the sheer lunacy of the gamble. He was about to discard the spent weapon when his fingers noticed the first trace of engraving on the grip. Two letters - H. R. 'At noon tomorrow you will die, hating yourself for what you have done.' Oh that was clever. Sick and twisted as Hell...but clever. Only one way to conceivably get close enough to test his theory and the timing would have to be just so. There was no margin for error. He only hoped that he lived long enough to ask Piper to forgive him.
Jackpot! What's a sheriff's office without a loaded shotgun? Hartley edged back towards the door, gritting his teeth at the pain radiating from his leg. Just one clear shot, that was all he needed. Looked like his dance partner was getting edgy out there. Piper flung the doors open and waited until after his opponent had risen to get a better angle before diving out and firing. The other man collapsed in a heap on the ground. As he straightened up painfully from his crouch Hartley caught a glimpse of himself in the window of the building. The face that looked back was not his own...it was the face of a Demon. But why would someone go to all the trouble of dressing him up like Ra's al Ghul unless...He couldn't hear a sound over the pounding of his own heart and the blood rushing in his ears. Oh God please, please, please...The pain barely even registered as he rushed across the street towards the suddenly, horrifyingly familiar form in the unfamiliar garments. Even through the tears blurring his vision the features were unmistakable. "Oh...no." Hartley Rathaway collapsed on the ground over the body of his partner.
It took everything James had not to react to the sound of the footsteps... to wait until the familiar voice confirmed that it wasn't another trick. Even as the cynical part of his brain reminded him that the emotional anguish evident in those two tiny syllables was a clear sign of exploitable weakness his heart ached. He'd been on the other side of that feeling and although years of careful conditioning had kept him from demonstrating it as openly...it had nearly destroyed him. "Piper," he whispered urgently and was rewarded by a slight stiffening in the other man's posture.
"James?" A shadow of a whisper, simultaneously as full of hope as it was with disbelief.
"'m sorry. Only way I could think of to get you close enough to talk. Get ready for Ra's al Ghul." He felt Hartley's small acknowledging nod against his neck before his partner started quietly sobbing and shaking as though his heart had broken.
"Good afternoon Mr. Rathaway."
"Nothing's ever going to be good again." That was one hell of a creepy monotone.
"I'm sorry that you feel that way."
"Sorry? No you're not! This is what you wanted all along isn't it? James is dead! H-he w-was my partner, the best f-friend I had in the w-world...I loved him! And I-I killed him for you."
"Actually Mr. Rathaway, to be brutally honest, I rather expected that things would be the other way around. However in a drama this large there are bound to be the occasional unexpected turns..."
"How's this for unexpected? You're under arrest! Again." The momentary look of total shock on the other man's features wasn't quite enough to smother the guilt that was welling up but it helped. Unfortunately the expression didn't last.
"You appear to have me at a disadvantage gentlemen, I am unarmed. Mr. Lawton however..." All James had to move were his eyes to see a man with a highly unattractive mustache and a smirk that clearly broadcast exactly how highly he thought of himself in clothes identical to the ones he himself was currently sporting with a gun pressed firmly to Talia's head. "Drop your weapons gentleman and you have my word that the girl will be released unharmed."
"James please!" She looked terrified...
"Don't do it. He's bluffing." For any other man it might have been a dilemma. But at the end of the day, James Jesse trusted his partner. The gun barrel never wavered. But Lawton was still an unknown factor, there was no telling how fast or accurately the other man could shoot. The fact that Ra's al Ghul had entrusted a job to the man instead of to his own fiercely loyal assassins did not bode well for them. What they needed was an edge. They'd taken his clothes...but the boots on his feet were still his own. He only needed one hand to keep a bead on Ra's, which left the other free...
'Can you reach my left boot heel?' He asked with his fingers. 'Should find a surprise in there that'll even the odds.'
"No deal Ra's. Who is she really?" The Trickster replied aloud. The terror faded from the pretty face and it hardened. Talia stepped away from Lawton, abruptly producing a gun of her own, which she proceeded to train on them.
"Very good gentlemen. Very good indeed. You almost make me sorry to have to kill you. Talia is my flesh and blood Mr. Jesse. My daughter. And it would appear that we now face what you Americans call a Mexican standoff."
"Appears that way." 'Got it! Divide and conquer on three' Deft fingers whispered into his shoulder. 'One...two...'
"Then again, appearances can be deceiving." 'Three!' James flung himself to the left at the same moment Hartley broke to the right and threw the tiny wind up chicken as hard as he could. Lawton managed to get off a shot that missed them both by a mile before all three villains collapsed in an untidy heap surrounded by a cloud of green smoke. James Jesse pulled himself painfully to his feet and moved awkwardly to help his partner do the same.
"You and your chickens."
"If I'm not allowed to bring up the rats then you can't say anything about the chickens."
"To each his own I suppose. Come along James m'boy. Let's see if this ghost town has a functioning telegraph office. I'm sure there's a warden somewhere who is absolutely sick with worry over his missing prisoner." They had to lean on each other to move forward...but that was nothing new. To either of them.
It felt good to be back on the train. Fine wine, comfortable furnishings, all the weapons a man could ever want hidden inside the furnishings...and good company. "You know Hart I'd have to say that all in all that whole mess wrapped up quite nicely. Your thoughts?" James lifted his gaze from the paper detailing some of their latest heroic exploit when his partner failed to reply. Cornflower blue eyes narrowed as the other man slowly flushed over having been caught staring for the tenth time in as many minutes.
"Think I need some air, I'll just..." There was no way that Piper was getting off that easily. The yo-yo string was around his waist before he could turn the door knob and an abrupt jerk on the line had him stumbling back towards James. What the Trickster hadn't taken into account was that neither of their bad legs were up to the strain of the sudden movement. They went down together in a heap on the sofa.
"James what in blue blazes..."
"You. Didn't. Shoot. Me." The flush returned full force.
"That obvious huh?"
"Trouble with you Hartley is that you tend to wear that big ol' heart of yours right out there on your sleeve. No easier way in the world to get hurt than that."
"I'll take it under advisement." Head tilted so that his glasses caught the glare from the light and hid his eyes completely. Clever fingers stole them off his nose before he had a chance to react.
"Wasn't meant as a criticism Hart. I just...I worry about you. That's all." Those blue eyes were shimmering.
"It hurt James. I thought you were dead and...I can't even tell you how much it...how much I...Dammit!" Awww to Hell with manly stoicism! James wrapped his arms around his partner. Hartley went stiff for a moment before burying his head in James' shoulder and clinging like a limpet.
"Been there and done that pal, remember? But we made it. I'm fine. You're going to be fine. It would take a Hell of a lot more than the likes of Ra's al Ghul to break up this team," he murmured softly into copper hair.
"We interrupting?" The shadow looming outside the open doorway was flanked by two more brightly coloured figures. West was having trouble picking his jaw up off the floor while Grayson just looked bemused.
"And you call yourself the World's Greatest Detective? Any one with eyes could see that we are attempting to have a moment here!"
"Spare me the phony sentimentality Trickster..." He wasn't in the mood for this. Not now. James Jesse let one of his arms drop from his partner's waist and pushed the big, shinny, red button. Hard. And just like that the Bat took flight. Damn but that spring loaded welcome mat was a neat little toy! "Well?" Both youths were gawking at him in unmasked horror. "Better hurry if you're gonna catch him before he hits the ground Kid." West blinked stupidly at him for a moment longer before vanishing in...well...a flash for lack of a better word, Grayson as hot on his heels as a person with only athleticism to fuel him could be. Good riddance! Hartley was trying unsuccessfully to muffle a snickering fit in his shoulder.
"You. Are. Terrible. Do you know that? Terrible!"
"You love it." Blue eyes rose to meet his own, the light that burned behind them dazzlingly renewed.
"I do. God help me...I really do."
"Good. Now whatta you say we saddle up the horses and go paint the nearest town green, blue and yellow? Just because the Bat posse is going to find us eventually is no reason to make it easy."
"James m'boy...I'd be delighted."
Arm in arm, Agents James Jesse and Hartley Rathaway limped off to the stable car.
Author: Ivybramble
Fandom: Justice Riders Elseworld
Rating: PG
Summary: When Ra's al Ghul escapes from prison, Special Government Agents James Jesse and Hartley Rathaway find themselves caught up in a deadly game...
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money.
Special Government Agent James T. Jesse was not having a good day. In fact, he was willing to go so far as to label the day he'd been having as horrendous, even by the incredibly high standards he and his partner kept on that sort of thing. The last thing he remembered before waking up in the seemingly deserted town of Paradox was trying to return a young lady's handbag to her...followed by a great deal of bluish smoke. When he'd awoken in the middle of the street he'd discovered that his clothes (and also all the useful gear he kept hidden inside them) had been replaced by the type of rough, nondescript, dark garments he'd expect to find on a hired gun. He was armed but that didn't do much good when there was, seemingly, no one to shoot at. But there was more to it than that...something sinister was at work here. He couldn't put his finger on it...but he could feel it in his bones.
The Boy Wonder watched the man in green's rapid preparations with a mixture of bemusement and consternation. "Don't you think that you're over reacting a mite? Even the Bat didn't think..." Blue eyes freed from their green glass prison pinned him like a butterfly to a button board.
" I. Am. Not. Over reacting. The Bat wasn't the one who put Ra's al Ghul behind bars. James is. The Demon's Head has a long memory and a longer arm. I intend to get on that horse, ride out to the way station and find out why my partner did not arrive on the stage like he said he would."
He wasn't alone. The throb of the bullet wound in his leg was a constant reminder. But the other presences were elusive. It was like trying to catch your own shadow. He'd returned fire naturally, but the body that had fallen into the street had turned out to be a mannequin. A mannequin dressed up to look like him. Somebody had gone to a great deal of trouble to set up this twisted little funhouse for him. If he could only figure out who he might have a better chance of staying alive. The trouble was that the list of people who would like to see him dead or worse was a mite longer than the average individual's. He was still going through his mental checklist when the girl ran headlong into him.
"Oh take your hands off of me this instant!"
"Glad to. Just as soon as you tell me what you're doing here."
"I...got lost."
"You got lost?"
"Well if you must know I ran away. Daddy was being ever so overbearing. There was someone, a gentleman I was fond of...but Daddy didn't approve. Daddy never approves. He swore that he'd kill him if he ever came back for me and..."
"And so you ran away to save him from your father." Before he'd become a government employee (and, if one were totally honest, even afterwards) James Jesse had built himself a reputation for being the best damn con-man in the Territories if not the whole of the United States. He hadn't done so by being gullible. Her story was true as far as it went...but it would be suicidally stupid to believe that she was telling him everything.
"Do you live...you're hurt!"
"Believe me I've had worse."
"Regardless that needs to be tended. Please, won't you let me help you Mister..?"
"Jesse. James Jesse. And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" There was something about her. Something about her smile was...familiar. If only he could figure out why.
"My name is Talia."
Why was it that the individuals chosen for local positions of authority were always so very thickheaded? "Look friend I'm not asking for much here. Just the answer to one, simple little question. Did you or did you not see a slick looking blonde gentleman in a blue suit and a yellow vest?"
"Pardon me. I could not help but overhear. The gentleman you are searching for is a Mr. James Jesse? Special Government Agent? Which would mean that you must be his partner, Mr. Rathaway." Hartley whirled around and found himself confronted with a somehow familiar looking statuesque woman of Asian decent. He managed to get one hand on his flute before a dart buried itself in his neck and the world started spinning. "I would be most pleased to escort you to your friend." Shiva, he remembered the name in the dossier as the darkness closed in, Lady Shiva...Creator...and Destroyer.
The message hadn't been there the last time he was in the saloon. Someone was playing games alright...and he was beginning to see a glimmer of who. 'Dear Mr. Jesse. I am sure that you understand that a man of my reputation cannot allow the insult you have paid me to pass uncensored. Unlike the majority of the adversaries you have dealt with in the past, I do not believe in making grandiose, melodramatic threats or indeed threats of any kind. Thus you may take what follows as a statement of fact...At noon tomorrow you will die, hating yourself for what you have done.' There was only one individual in his mental index of people-with-reasons-to-want-him-killed-in-an-extremely-painful-and-elaborate-way who would genuinely consider a message like that not to be a grandiose, melodramatic threat... Ra's al Ghul. He was in Very. Deep. Trouble.
"What do you think it means James?"
"Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about." He knew that his efforts to hide how much every step was paining him were falling short but he couldn't seem to muster the energy for a more convincing performance. Probably a long lasting side effect of that damned knock-out gas.
"We still need to find something to dress that leg. There must be a General Store..."
"There is, three buildings down on the left. I'll..."
"No. You just rest. I'll go." James would have argued but he couldn't seem to find the strength. He wasn't sure how long Talia had been gone before a scream sent him leaping out the door in time to witness, but helpless to prevent, the shot. Something sharp hit him in the neck before he could get to her side...and then the world went black.
Floyd Lawton was bored. If it hadn't been for the sheer amount of capital that creepy old man in the cape had offered him, he would never have taken the job in the first place. Seemed strange that the head of an Assassins League needed to bring in a hired gun. But after sampling the character of the membership, particularly that Oriental woman who was always trailing three steps behind al Ghul, Floyd had realized what the problem was. The idiots wouldn't do the job because they felt there wasn't any honour in it. Honour was not something Floyd counted among his vices. He did a job, exactly as specified and he got paid. The rumble of an approaching stage sounded from outside the saloon. Showtime. Smirking at the unconscious blonde in an outfit identical to his own, Deadshot sauntered out to get the party started.
Hartley Rathaway was still disoriented when he awoke to find himself sprawled out on the seat of what appeared to be a stage. Even his clothing felt odd, ill fitting somehow in a way that even his disguises never were. The Piper staggered out of the stage in an attempt to get his bearings. And nearly had his head taken off by an unprovoked shot fired by a man in dark clothing who beat a hasty retreat back into the saloon. Drawing his own side arm with a muttered curse Hartley Rathaway dove to find better cover.
It was the shot that woke him...with the memory of a scream and a fallen girl following hard on it's heals. James Jesse snatched his gun from it's holster and advanced quickly but cautiously on the door of the saloon. There wasn't anyone in the street...that he could see. The Trickster dove out into the sunlight and nearly had his head taken off by an unprovoked shot fired from the opposite side of the street. A shot fired by a man in a green cape. Ra's. By his reckoning it was long past time to put the Demon's Head's rumoured immortality to the test. He fired two shots in rapid succession to draw the other man out...and scored a direct hit in the leg on the third.
The wound burned with a pain so intense that it left Hartley's eyes watering. Adrenaline lent him the strength to rise before the shooter could inflict any further damage and force the other man to seek cover with a rapid round of returned fire. Until a terribly ill timed yet familiar click told him that he was out of ammunition. Dammit all! A quick survey of his surrounding revealed that the sheriff's office was only a building away. There had to be guns in there. Desperate to buy himself time enough to get inside the building Hartley flung the emptied gun at his opponent while simultaneously diving for the door.
What kind of an idiot threw his own gun away? If he hadn't currently been engaged in a fight for his life the Trickster would have laughed at the sheer lunacy of the gamble. He was about to discard the spent weapon when his fingers noticed the first trace of engraving on the grip. Two letters - H. R. 'At noon tomorrow you will die, hating yourself for what you have done.' Oh that was clever. Sick and twisted as Hell...but clever. Only one way to conceivably get close enough to test his theory and the timing would have to be just so. There was no margin for error. He only hoped that he lived long enough to ask Piper to forgive him.
Jackpot! What's a sheriff's office without a loaded shotgun? Hartley edged back towards the door, gritting his teeth at the pain radiating from his leg. Just one clear shot, that was all he needed. Looked like his dance partner was getting edgy out there. Piper flung the doors open and waited until after his opponent had risen to get a better angle before diving out and firing. The other man collapsed in a heap on the ground. As he straightened up painfully from his crouch Hartley caught a glimpse of himself in the window of the building. The face that looked back was not his own...it was the face of a Demon. But why would someone go to all the trouble of dressing him up like Ra's al Ghul unless...He couldn't hear a sound over the pounding of his own heart and the blood rushing in his ears. Oh God please, please, please...The pain barely even registered as he rushed across the street towards the suddenly, horrifyingly familiar form in the unfamiliar garments. Even through the tears blurring his vision the features were unmistakable. "Oh...no." Hartley Rathaway collapsed on the ground over the body of his partner.
It took everything James had not to react to the sound of the footsteps... to wait until the familiar voice confirmed that it wasn't another trick. Even as the cynical part of his brain reminded him that the emotional anguish evident in those two tiny syllables was a clear sign of exploitable weakness his heart ached. He'd been on the other side of that feeling and although years of careful conditioning had kept him from demonstrating it as openly...it had nearly destroyed him. "Piper," he whispered urgently and was rewarded by a slight stiffening in the other man's posture.
"James?" A shadow of a whisper, simultaneously as full of hope as it was with disbelief.
"'m sorry. Only way I could think of to get you close enough to talk. Get ready for Ra's al Ghul." He felt Hartley's small acknowledging nod against his neck before his partner started quietly sobbing and shaking as though his heart had broken.
"Good afternoon Mr. Rathaway."
"Nothing's ever going to be good again." That was one hell of a creepy monotone.
"I'm sorry that you feel that way."
"Sorry? No you're not! This is what you wanted all along isn't it? James is dead! H-he w-was my partner, the best f-friend I had in the w-world...I loved him! And I-I killed him for you."
"Actually Mr. Rathaway, to be brutally honest, I rather expected that things would be the other way around. However in a drama this large there are bound to be the occasional unexpected turns..."
"How's this for unexpected? You're under arrest! Again." The momentary look of total shock on the other man's features wasn't quite enough to smother the guilt that was welling up but it helped. Unfortunately the expression didn't last.
"You appear to have me at a disadvantage gentlemen, I am unarmed. Mr. Lawton however..." All James had to move were his eyes to see a man with a highly unattractive mustache and a smirk that clearly broadcast exactly how highly he thought of himself in clothes identical to the ones he himself was currently sporting with a gun pressed firmly to Talia's head. "Drop your weapons gentleman and you have my word that the girl will be released unharmed."
"James please!" She looked terrified...
"Don't do it. He's bluffing." For any other man it might have been a dilemma. But at the end of the day, James Jesse trusted his partner. The gun barrel never wavered. But Lawton was still an unknown factor, there was no telling how fast or accurately the other man could shoot. The fact that Ra's al Ghul had entrusted a job to the man instead of to his own fiercely loyal assassins did not bode well for them. What they needed was an edge. They'd taken his clothes...but the boots on his feet were still his own. He only needed one hand to keep a bead on Ra's, which left the other free...
'Can you reach my left boot heel?' He asked with his fingers. 'Should find a surprise in there that'll even the odds.'
"No deal Ra's. Who is she really?" The Trickster replied aloud. The terror faded from the pretty face and it hardened. Talia stepped away from Lawton, abruptly producing a gun of her own, which she proceeded to train on them.
"Very good gentlemen. Very good indeed. You almost make me sorry to have to kill you. Talia is my flesh and blood Mr. Jesse. My daughter. And it would appear that we now face what you Americans call a Mexican standoff."
"Appears that way." 'Got it! Divide and conquer on three' Deft fingers whispered into his shoulder. 'One...two...'
"Then again, appearances can be deceiving." 'Three!' James flung himself to the left at the same moment Hartley broke to the right and threw the tiny wind up chicken as hard as he could. Lawton managed to get off a shot that missed them both by a mile before all three villains collapsed in an untidy heap surrounded by a cloud of green smoke. James Jesse pulled himself painfully to his feet and moved awkwardly to help his partner do the same.
"You and your chickens."
"If I'm not allowed to bring up the rats then you can't say anything about the chickens."
"To each his own I suppose. Come along James m'boy. Let's see if this ghost town has a functioning telegraph office. I'm sure there's a warden somewhere who is absolutely sick with worry over his missing prisoner." They had to lean on each other to move forward...but that was nothing new. To either of them.
It felt good to be back on the train. Fine wine, comfortable furnishings, all the weapons a man could ever want hidden inside the furnishings...and good company. "You know Hart I'd have to say that all in all that whole mess wrapped up quite nicely. Your thoughts?" James lifted his gaze from the paper detailing some of their latest heroic exploit when his partner failed to reply. Cornflower blue eyes narrowed as the other man slowly flushed over having been caught staring for the tenth time in as many minutes.
"Think I need some air, I'll just..." There was no way that Piper was getting off that easily. The yo-yo string was around his waist before he could turn the door knob and an abrupt jerk on the line had him stumbling back towards James. What the Trickster hadn't taken into account was that neither of their bad legs were up to the strain of the sudden movement. They went down together in a heap on the sofa.
"James what in blue blazes..."
"You. Didn't. Shoot. Me." The flush returned full force.
"That obvious huh?"
"Trouble with you Hartley is that you tend to wear that big ol' heart of yours right out there on your sleeve. No easier way in the world to get hurt than that."
"I'll take it under advisement." Head tilted so that his glasses caught the glare from the light and hid his eyes completely. Clever fingers stole them off his nose before he had a chance to react.
"Wasn't meant as a criticism Hart. I just...I worry about you. That's all." Those blue eyes were shimmering.
"It hurt James. I thought you were dead and...I can't even tell you how much it...how much I...Dammit!" Awww to Hell with manly stoicism! James wrapped his arms around his partner. Hartley went stiff for a moment before burying his head in James' shoulder and clinging like a limpet.
"Been there and done that pal, remember? But we made it. I'm fine. You're going to be fine. It would take a Hell of a lot more than the likes of Ra's al Ghul to break up this team," he murmured softly into copper hair.
"We interrupting?" The shadow looming outside the open doorway was flanked by two more brightly coloured figures. West was having trouble picking his jaw up off the floor while Grayson just looked bemused.
"And you call yourself the World's Greatest Detective? Any one with eyes could see that we are attempting to have a moment here!"
"Spare me the phony sentimentality Trickster..." He wasn't in the mood for this. Not now. James Jesse let one of his arms drop from his partner's waist and pushed the big, shinny, red button. Hard. And just like that the Bat took flight. Damn but that spring loaded welcome mat was a neat little toy! "Well?" Both youths were gawking at him in unmasked horror. "Better hurry if you're gonna catch him before he hits the ground Kid." West blinked stupidly at him for a moment longer before vanishing in...well...a flash for lack of a better word, Grayson as hot on his heels as a person with only athleticism to fuel him could be. Good riddance! Hartley was trying unsuccessfully to muffle a snickering fit in his shoulder.
"You. Are. Terrible. Do you know that? Terrible!"
"You love it." Blue eyes rose to meet his own, the light that burned behind them dazzlingly renewed.
"I do. God help me...I really do."
"Good. Now whatta you say we saddle up the horses and go paint the nearest town green, blue and yellow? Just because the Bat posse is going to find us eventually is no reason to make it easy."
"James m'boy...I'd be delighted."
Arm in arm, Agents James Jesse and Hartley Rathaway limped off to the stable car.