Prompt Post - Part Nine [CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS]
THIS PART IS NOW CLOSED. YOU CAN CONTINUE POSTING FILLS, BUT PLEASE PROMPT ALL NEW THINGS HERE.
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“My friends, is there something you are not telling me?” Kaldur asks, turning to his teammates in what is no longer just benign confusion. He looks frustrated, even impatient, both of which are distinctly uncharacteristic for him. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“You tell me,” Roy growls.
“I assure you, I am just as confused as you seem to be.”
Roy shakes his head like he’s trying to wake himself up, and Wally looks so anxious now that Artemis wouldn’t be surprised if he ran from the room, or broke down, or both.
“Roy,” Robin breaks in, his voice soft. “I’m sorry. We meant to tell you before it came to this.”
But the archer seems not to hear him; his hands have clenched into fists at his sides and he’s staring off into space, his face growing steadily darker, as if some giant weight is descending on his shoulders and it’s all he can do just to stand upright.
“I believe I am owed an explanation,” Kaldur says, looking to Robin this time. “I do not appre- “
“You had no right,” Roy suddenly gasps out, his gaze whipping to M’gann, who shrinks back, looking like she’s about to cry. “You had no damn right to - “
“ - she only did what he asked her to,” Conner interrupts, taking a protective step in front of the Martian to put himself between her and Roy, who looks absolutely livid. “Maybe you should have been a little more careful with - “
“ - you don’t know a goddamn thing about this, don’t you dare try and fucking - “
“Enough,” Kaldur snaps, and Roy looks back at him sharply, the anger fading from his face to be replaced by desperate disbelief. But the Atlantean’s own gaze is commanding and hard, not a trace of recognition in those pale grey eyes. “I will not tolerate such hostility towards my teammates. State your business, or leave immediately.”
“Kaldur,” says Roy, talking a faltering step towards him. “God, Kaldur, please. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t know who I am.”
“I know well enough,” Kaldur replies evenly. “Red Arrow, formerly Speedy, a past protégé of Green Arrow. Civilian alias Roy Harper, residence Star City.”
With every word, Roy seems to break further.
A horrible silence envelops the group. M’gann is crying in earnest now, but the sound is muffled in Conner’s chest as he holds her close; Wally looks like he’s about to throw up, and for once, Robin has no wisecrack. Artemis watches them all, and despite everything, despite all the bad blood between her and Roy, despite the fact that she could never quite understand what Kaldur saw in him, her stomach twists with pity as he stands there looking for all the world like someone’s turned off all the lights and he’s too damn scared to make a move in the darkness.
“I…” he rasps at last, but stops. His hands are shaking.
“Have I said something to offend you?” Kaldur asks, gentler now. He seems to sense that he has given the wrong answer.
Slowly, Roy shakes his head, closing his eyes a moment before he forces a broken smile and looks back up.
“No, I just…” he practically whispers. There is a long, tense pause. “I should have come sooner. I’m sorry.”
He takes a hesitant step forward, as if waiting to see if Kaldur will move away, which he doesn’t.
The Atlantean’s eyes open wide in surprise as he finds himself pulled into an unexpected embrace, then even further when the archer’s lips press against his cheek in a brief, trembling kiss. Then as suddenly as it happened, it’s over, and Roy has slipped past him and is heading swiftly for the zeta-tubes without a backwards glance, hands thrust into his pockets once more.
As the others look on, Kaldur lifts a hand to his cheek. The look on his face could mean many things, but to Artemis, it’s as if he’s just heard a faint catch of music, and he’s trying to remember the words that go with it, but it passes after a moment and he simply looks confused.
The others share a look.
“Showers,” says Robin brusquely, assuming command. “Then…we’ll talk.”
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They’re in the doorway of Roy’s apartment, busily stripping off weapons and equipment and muddy boots after a night out in the city, when Roy just stops all of a sudden and leans over and catches Kaldur’s lips with his own, and they freeze like that for a second. It’s brief and it’s chaste and it’s simple and then it’s over.
They go back to what they were doing.
“Is there an occasion I am forgetting?” Kaldur asks after a moment, straightening out as he kicks his discarded boots to one side.
Roy shrugs and drops his quiver to the floor.
“Not really,” he says. “Just…felt like it.”
Kaldur chuckles.
“Fair enough.”
“You’re not going to kick my ass and go running back to the Cave, are you?”
“Why would I do that?’
“I don’t know how stuff gets handled down in Atlantis, but up here, this kind of thing sometimes ends that way.”
“I see. Well. No. The thought had not occurred to me.”
“Great. You want first shower?”
“Either way, my friend.”
It’s as simple as that.
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The bell rings at 2:45, and Wally can’t believe how long this day has been. Bolting from the classroom, he shoulders his way through the crowded hallway, digs his books out of his locker and stuffs them in his backpack, wishing he could just speed out of there and be done with it all, but there’s this whole thing where he’s pretending to be a normal teenager, so he settles for a fast walk, trying not to bump anyone who’s likely to throw him into a wall for it.
Ordinarily on a Thursday, he’d head for the Cave, get a little extra training in, but he has a different destination in mind today. Besides, the air is still awkward there - M’gann is reeling from yesterday’s events, and according to the zeta-records, Kaldur disappeared to Atlantis before anyone woke up this morning. But Wally’s not worried about him. Kaldur might know what’s missing now, but he can’t miss it. Not like Roy can.
He zeta-transports to Star City from the fake storefront in Central, textbooks and backpack and all. It’s been a while since he’s been here but he knows the route anyway, from all the times all four of them - he and Robin and Roy and Kaldur - gathered in the eldest’s apartment to eat pizza and talk shit about each other’s mentors and get way too competitive about video games, back before things got so complicated with the team and everything else. On some selfish level, he can’t help but be disappointed that they’ll probably never get to do that again, at least not like it was before…but that’s probably the least of Roy’s concerns right now, so Wally forces his mind away from it. He isn’t here to feel sorry for himself.
It’s a little past three by the time he jogs up the front steps to the door and knocks, shifting antsily from one foot to another.
No one answers.
He tries again a moment later, hiking his backpack up on his shoulder.
Just as he figures Roy’s not in and turns to leave, the door opens just a crack, and he look back to see the archer blinking blearily out at him, the sunshine from outside slanting over his face and making him flinch back half a step.
“Hey,” Wally says, trying not to comment on the fact that HANGOVER is practically written across Roy’s face. “Um, bad time?”
Roy stares at him a moment, as if trying to decide what he wants, then undoes the chain from the door and opens it without a word. Wally follows him inside.
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“I’ll get around to it,” Roy mutters, as if sensing Wally’s thoughts.
“It’s fine,” Wally says quickly. “Bad night?”
“Bad week.”
“Right.”
As Roy wanders into the kitchen, Wally steps over the first patch of laundry and finds a clear space on the floor to dump his backpack. He has this urge to pull up all the blinds and open the windows and let some air and light into the place, because it’s like being in a tomb - a very messy, lived-in tomb - but judging by the many empty cans of cheap beer in front of the couch, Roy wouldn’t appreciate that, so he just follows him into the kitchen, eying the bloodstains warily.
“Is that…are you…okay?” he asks, gesturing to them.
Roy casts a glance at the floor.
“Yeah,” he says. “Stayed on patrol past my expiration date last night. Don’t worry about it.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing worth talking about. You want a snack?”
Wally isn’t sure he trusts any food that’s made contact with Roy’s kitchen, but he’s hungry - he hasn’t eaten since lunch, which for a speedster might as well be an age, and besides, the stuff Roy is pulling out of the cupboard is packaged so it probably can’t kill him. Probably.
“So,” Roy says as he tosses Wally a packet of beef jerky. “I’m assuming you’re here to make sure I’m not dead.”
“I wasn’t gonna put it like that,” Wally mumbles. “But um, yeah, I guess. Just…wanted to check in. See if you were okay.”
“Well, I’m alive,” says Roy, ripping open his own package and tearing a piece off with his teeth. “Mission accomplished?”
Wally forces a weak, uncomfortable grin, moving forward to pick up the toppled kitchen chair and right it so that he can sit in it. Mostly he just wants to buy himself time to figure out how to continue this conversation.
“We…planned to tell you sooner,” he says finally, fiddling with the jerky wrapper and avoiding his friend’s eyes. “So you wouldn’t have to find out like…like that. We thought you wouldn’t be back for another few days.”
Roy leans against the kitchen counter, expression unreadable.
“Yeah,” he mutters after a moment, rubbing the crook of his elbow with his thumb. “I thought so too. But I cut some stuff short. I just wanted a chance to talk to him before things got worse. That worked out great, obviously.”
He lets out a hollow laugh that makes Wally cringe, because it’s just like Roy to pretend to be laughing about this, when everything around them points to the fact that he’s falling apart.
“What happened?” Wally asks quietly. “I mean, if you want to talk about it.”
“Not sure what the point is anymore,” Roy shrugs.
“I dunno. Sometimes talking about stuff makes it better, you know?”
“Cute idea, freckleface, but what’s done is done. I was too late. All that’s left to do is live with it.”
“Roy, come on,” Wally frowns. “You know what I mean. “
Roy sighs and sets his snack aside.
“What do you want me to say?” he asks, and there’s something about the way his breath caves his chest a little too far, the way his shoulders slump and hunch at the same time, simultaneously defensive and resigned, something about the utterly lost expression in his eyes. It’s painful just to look at him. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to hurt someone so badly, they want to forget they ever met you?”
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“I…” Roy says, then trails off, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple, Kid.”
“What do you mean?”
Roy runs a hand through his hair, staring at the tile by his feet, thinking. For a moment, he says nothing, then finally looks back up at Wally and says,
“What I keep coming back to is that I knew what I was doing, and I did it anyway.”
Setting aside his empty jerky wrapper, Wally frowns.
“I’m not sure I get it.”
“I’m not sure you would,” Roy says flatly. “You ever been high before?”
Wally tries not to react, really he does. But the air just seems to want to get into his lungs too quickly, and the sharp intake of breath is totally audible.
“But I thought you…you…”
“Quit?” Roy supplies. “Yeah. I did. Relapsed about a month ago. Went into treatment again shortly after. As I said, bad few weeks.”
He gestures to his apartment, and Wally starts to understand.
“Did Kaldur know that?”
“Know what?”
“Any of it.”
“Yeah. Half. Knew I’d started using again. Didn’t know I was trying to stop.”
“Right,” Wally murmurs uncomfortably. He has a hard time imagining Kaldur just leaving Roy struggling with this - it’s not like either of them to abandon the other mid-fight, and they all know that Roy’s addiction the toughest battle he’s ever fought, will ever fight.
They’re silent for a long time, both just eating and avoiding the other’s eyes. Wally isn’t really sure how to approach this. His relationship with Roy isn’t built to handle this kind of thing - they’re supposed to laugh and horse around and annoy each other, supposed to have a good time and call each other bad names and eat junk food until they’re sick. That’s how it’s always worked with the two of them. They’re definitely not supposed to be sitting in a sea of mess, silenced by the heavy weight of the topic at hand.
Yet someone has to be here. Someone has to look out for Roy right now, and Robin’s busy and Kaldur’s gone, in so many ways, so here Wally is, and he’s out of beef jerky, so he really has to say something now. What comes out is:
“Do you mind if I just uh, hang out here for a bit? I have homework.”
He’s expecting Roy to roll his eyes, probably kick him out, make some comment about not wanting his goddamn pity. But instead, the archer just looks over and nods, his expression uncharacteristically subdued.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, that’s…that’s cool with me.”
As Wally settles into the couch, textbooks spread around him and problem set open in his lap, Roy fills the kitchen sink with water and begins working his way through the dirty dishes randomly strewn throughout his apartment, throwing away empty containers as he goes. They pass the time like this, silent but there, until the sun’s going down and the flat’s almost clean (or at least not filthy), and Wally’s stomach is rumbling yet again, though his homework’s only half done.
“My fridge is kind of empty,” Roy mutters apologetically at the sound. “Gonna take a quick shower, then maybe takeout or something?”
“Sounds good,” Wally says, looking over and nodding.
A minute later, the water comes on in the bathroom. Wally settles back into his calculus, wondering if Roy would be any good at this stuff, because he’s tired of writing out every step when he can usually jump to the end and get the right answer anyway, but his teacher docks points if he skips anything…
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“Oh,” says Dinah in clear surprise when it’s Wally standing there, not Roy.
“Wrong redhead, I know, sorry,” he says with a halfhearted grin. Usually he’d follow up with some kind of flirtatious comment, but the moment’s wrong, and besides, most of that is just a running joke between him and Robin anyway, so there’s no point when it’s just him. “He’s in the shower. Um, what’s up?”
“Dinner,” Dinah says, lifting up the cardboard box in her arms - inside are several containers, some of which are giving off steam (and a smell that makes the speedster’s stomach let out a ravenous little roar). “Mind if I come in?"
He takes the box from her and sets it on the kitchen counter while she pulls off her jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door. Clearly, this routine is familiar to her.
“How’s he doing?” she murmurs to him as he opens the cupboards and begins pulling out the dishes Roy washed a few hours before.
“Not really sure,” he replies. “Quiet, mostly. Just…yeah. Really quiet.”
It’s more than that, but he’s pretty sure she’ll know what he means.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Dinah says, laying a hand on his shoulder before she begins to lay out the food she’s brought over - some kind of casserole, a salad, and what looks like cornbread. “He could use a friend right now.”
She opens her mouth to continue when just then, the bathroom door opens and Roy steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist and water dripping down his chest from his still-wet hair.
“You okay?” Wally asked, alarmed. Roy’s lips are blue, and he’s even paler than usual.
“Fine,” Roy murmurs, nodding to Dinah as if he’s been expecting her. “Shower was…cold. Think I used up the hot water on the dishes.”
There’s something ragged about his voice as he turns into his bedroom to fetch proper clothes, and Wally and Dinah share a look.
“Little things,” she murmurs.
They eat, the three of them gathered around Roy’s tiny little kitchen table. The conversation is sparse, mostly Dinah and Wally exchanging small talk about safe topics - Star City, school, the food they’re eating - while Roy just seems distracted the whole time, the color slowly returning to his face. But Wally can’t help but think that however awkward this is, it’s better than what Roy apparently did last night. At least the archer is neither bleeding nor drunk off his ass. Yet.
He helps clean up, then retreats back to his homework - in the kitchen, Roy and Dinah are discussing something in low voices, and he doesn’t want to interrupt.
Finally, around eight, Dinah calls out a goodbye, and the front door closes, and Roy comes into the living room, a single can of beer in his hand.
“Hey,” Wally greets awkwardly.
“Hey.”
He shifts his textbook aside so Roy will have room to sit down on the couch, then the archer picks up the remote and turns the TV to the evening news. Sensing that Roy doesn’t want to talk, but could still use the company, Wally sets aside his completed calculus homework and pulls out the book he’s supposed to finish for English, flipping to the appropriate chapter and starting to read.
He gets through about eight pages before he chances a glance over at his friend and discovers that Roy is crying. Not clutching-the-pillows-and-shaking-with-sobs crying, not trying-not-to-cry-but-crying-anyway crying, nothing dramatic like that; he’s just sitting there silently watching the TV, and if Wally hadn’t seen the tears rolling down his cheeks he might not have noticed at all, it’s so subtle.
All the same, the sight paralyzes him. This is Roy Harper. Roy Harper does not cry. Wally’s watched Roy have bones broken without so much as an “ouch,” and until now, he wouldn’t even have bet that the guy had tear ducts at all, but here he is, a foot away on the couch, and it’s undeniable, unless his eyes have somehow sprung a leak.
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“Fine,” Roy rasps without looking over.
Unsure what exactly to say to that - “doesn’t look like it” comes to mind, or perhaps “bullshit,” just to take a leaf out of Roy’s own book - but he doesn’t want to make him talk about anything he doesn’t want to. So he says nothing, just sits there and watches the archer watch the TV, waiting.
“I just wish I’d come back sooner,” Roy says finally, his voice raw. “I always assumed…there would be a second chance, you know? With him.”
Wally reaches out to put his hand on Roy’s shoulder, discovering a sudden lump in his own throat.
“Guess I’ve had more second chances than I deserve already,” continues Roy, hanging his head as his voice grows hoarser yet. “I can’t say I blame him for just calling it all quits. I just…I can’t believe…”
He trails off, something choking the rest of his sentence before he can get it out.
“Maybe this is his way of giving you one,” Wally offers. “Another chance.”
“Yeah?” Roy asks, turning to give the speedster the bitterest smile he’s ever seen. “Maybe. Or maybe he just knew it would’ve been better if we’d never known each other in the first place. Maybe he just got that it was always going to end the way it did, unless one of us pulled the plug.”
“I don’t believe that,” says Wally softly. “You’re his best friend, Roy. “
“Was,” Roy corrects. “He doesn’t even know who I am anymore.”
“Regardless. You could make him smile when no one else could. Obviously something was good about that.”
“Yeah, and I could tear him apart like no one else could, too,” Roy replies, shaking his head. “Which is exactly what I did. I don’t blame him for wanting to forget me, Wally. Sometimes I wish I could forget myself.”
Wally bites his lip, lost for words.
“I just want one more chance,” Roy whispers, turning his face away. “Not even that. Just…five minutes with him, the version of him that knows me, just to say I didn’t mean any of it, not a single goddamn word. I thought he knew. I just…it’s so easy to forget how little he thinks of himself, because I see everything that’s good and right and beautiful about him all the time, and I just can’t believe that he can’t see it too, so I never tell him - told him - often enough.”
He takes a shuddering breath.
“And I was high, and angry, he was just trying to help, and I just wanted a reaction out of him, one way or another, because he can be so damn cold sometimes, you know? Just so…unresponsive. I never thought he’d believe anything I said when I was like that. And then I just…disappeared, because I couldn’t face him again, not so soon after, and I thought I’d get my shit together and he’d be there waiting for me like he always is, but…I never thought…”
He breaks down for a moment, hunching over himself as if he’s in some kind of pain, arms wrapping tightly around his own body.
“Fuck, Wally,” he gasps. “I can’t do this. The whole time in rehab, just thinking of getting back, of making it right, and now…I never can. It’s too late. I just…I don’t, I can’t…”
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“I’m sorry,” he whispers finally, his own voice choked. “The rest of us…we’re all here for you, all right? If you need anything…”
“You shouldn’t be,” Roy cuts him off, closing his eyes. “I just fuck everything up, Kid. Me and this damn drug. First Ollie and Hal, now Kaldur, after everything he did to get me off it…you should get the hell out of here while you can.”
“Nice try,” Wally says with a watery smile, patting his friend on the back. “But I’m not going anywhere.”
Roy doesn’t respond, just silently lays his head on his shoulder, and it’s a little awkward with the height difference and whatnot, but Wally just wraps an arm around the archer and takes his weight for a moment.
They stay like that for a while in the flickering light of the TV, until the ten o’clock news is coming on and Wally’s phone vibrates, and it’s his mother, asking him how many hours past his curfew he intends to get back.
“Go home,” Roy tells him, standing up.
“You sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll work it out,” the archer says. “I always do. I think.”
“Right,” Wally nods as he piles his books back into his backpack. “Well, I…good night, then. I’m sorry about…everything.”
“Yeah,” Roy agrees hoarsely. “Yeah, me too.”
On the way to the zeta station, Wally pulls out his phone once more, texts as he walks, everything he’s just heard percolating in his head.
Rob…this is a mistake. We gotta do something.
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So great, I want to hug Roy so much. And Wally, please please please fix things! You and Robin can take over the world with a loudspeaker and a can of string cheese, you can do this!!!
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“Don’t babysit me,” Roy snaps.
Given a choice between the man trying to give him money and the one trying to talk him out of it, the bartender goes for the profitable option and pours Roy his next drink.
Kaldur frowns, watching the lines of his lover’s face harden as the archer knocks it back, a dry shot of scotch, no chaser. Roy has been different lately, since that undercover mission he took for the government a few weeks back - evasive, a little surlier than usual, clingy one moment and distant the next without apparent reason. Kaldur has tried on a few occasions to ask what’s wrong, but as ever, Roy refuses to have a conversation on anyone else’s terms, so Kaldur has resorted to waiting for him to bring it up.
So far, it has been a long wait.
“You gonna have another?”
“I had not planned to.”
“Why the hell not?”
Kaldur opens his mouth to explain that one of them needs to be sober enough to get them both home, but given the circumstances, he reconsiders.
“We have an assignment tomorrow,” he says instead.
Roy’s brow creases. Apparently, this is also a wrong answer.
“Another one?”
“The last was nearly two weeks ago,” Kaldur points out. “I do not think they have been unreasonably frequent.”
“Whatever.”
Roy looks away, too compromised to hide his disappointment. With a frown, Kaldur reaches over to place a concerned hand on the archer’s arm; Roy tenses at the touch but does not pull away, though his gaze stays out in the room, like he’s looking something, and even he doesn’t know what it is. When a moment passes and neither of them speak, they let the noise of the bar rise up to fill their silence.
Their night does not end so quietly. On the way out, when Kaldur slips an arm around Roy’s shoulders to steady him, a man seated near the exit mutters a word they haven’t heard in some time, and despite Kaldur’s murmured urging, Roy will not let it go. He is drunk, and angry, and ready for a fight, and the stranger is more than ready to give him one - they end up in the alleyway outside where a few drunken spectators yell violent encouragements and place their bets, and all too soon the two are exchanging blows in the dirty glow of the streetlights.
Kaldur, for his part, stands quietly against the wall and does not watch. He knows that Roy will win, but he has no desire to see it happen. Despite their work, or perhaps because of it, Kaldur has no taste for bloodshed, particularly this sort, senseless and brutal and utterly unnecessary, and when it is over and Roy approaches him, he offers no congratulations, just checks him for injuries and turns to go without a word.
They leave the other man groaning on the concrete, tended by his friends, who shout a few parting comments at their backs that Roy (blessedly) ignores.
In the darkness, they walk the distance to Kaldur’s apartment without speaking or touching. Roy stumbles occasionally, weaving from one side of the sidewalk to the other; Kaldur is already thinking of his mission tomorrow, and what preparations he will need to make, how early he will have to awaken to get it all done and arrive at the Cave in time. Roy’s behavior does worry him but he cannot help him if he will not talk, and even Kaldur’s patience is not limitless - he is tired of this game, of Roy’s unpredictable moods, of always being the one to hold his temper when Roy loses his, and perhaps he is also a little hurt that after all they have been through, Roy still does not trust him enough to come clean.
They reach the flat. While Roy stands waiting, Kaldur fishes his key out of his pocket and unlocks his apartment, flicking the kitchen light on as he steps inside. Suddenly, even before the door closes at his back, strong arms wrap around him from behind, and hot breath ghosts against the back of his ear, and a callused hand slips up under the front of his shirt and begins to slide up his chest, pulling the fabric up with it.
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“Kal,” he half-growls; whether the gruffness is from anger or desire, Kaldur cannot tell. “Come on.”
“You are drunk, my friend.”
This isn’t the whole story, but Kaldur is not about to explain just why he isn’t in the mood when Roy is likely to take it all the wrong way.
“And?” Roy presses as he manages to wrest Kaldur’s hand off him. He steps forward and takes Kaldur’s face in his hands, forcing a liquor-bitter kiss on his lips before the Atlantean can stop him. “We done it drunk b’fore.”
His words are slurred but his intentions are clear, and this time Kaldur is not as gentle when he shoves him away - Roy staggers slightly, knocking against the entry closet door.
“What the hell?”
“You are testing my patience.”
“Don’t be s’damn cold, Kaldur,” Roy snaps.
Kaldur opens his mouth to respond, but Roy’s words have struck deeper than he can know. It is not the first time Kaldur has heard them, not even close, and instantly, he questions himself - why is he turning Roy away, when they have been waiting all week to see each other, and when the archer clearly needs him, needs the closeness only he can give? When had he become so heartless, so selfish, so hard?
Just as he looks up, Roy seems to read the self-doubt in his eyes and curses softly, his own expression crumbling.
“Kal, I’m sorry, I - “
“No,” Kaldur interrupts, taking Roy’s hands in his own. “I am the one who should be sorry.”
And before Roy can reply, he kisses him, slowly and sweetly, over and over, until the archer’s hesitancy slips away and they both forget about the blood on Roy’s knuckles and the doubt that has taken heavy residency in Kaldur’s chest.
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Data-Gather, Preliminary Stage: Kid Flash
(312): what kind of mistake are we talking, kf?
(217): was just at roys place. hes not doing so good.
(312): what were you expecting?
(217): im not playing around, rob. i havent seen him like that in a long time.
(312): withdrawals are a bitch.
(217): it wasnt just that.
(217): …and wth, u knew???
(312): is he clean?
(217): why didnt u tell us?
(312): wasn’t my place. answer my question.
(217): u could have at least told kaldur. and yes, hes clean.
(312): kaldur knew. so what’s the mistake?
(217): roy needs him.
(312): we can’t overrule AL’s decision just because of that.
(217): u dont seriously believe kals happier like this?
(312): maybe he is. that’s not for us to decide.
(217): roy said he didnt mean what he said.
(312): do you even _know_ what he said?
(217): no…do u?
(312): no. but it must have been pretty bad.
(217): rob answer me honestly…is there anything i could say to u that would make u want to forget u ever knew me?
(312): …no.
(217): same here. look i know kal must have thought this thru a lot but that doesnt mean its not a mistake. maybe he needed it in the moment but sooner or later hes going to figure out that there is a hole in his life where his best friend is supposed to be. we gotta do something.
(312): …ok. i’ll look into it.
(217): thanks rob. bros for life?
(312): duh.
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Data-Gather, Stage One: Black Canary
“Can I talk to you a minute?” Dick asks after training, when the others are shuffling off towards the showers and Canary is pulling her jacket back on, about to leave.
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“Maybe somewhere a little more private,” he suggests. Not that it would be the end of the world if Conner overheard this conversation, but this is a personal matter, and not even Dick’s own. It would be better to respect the privacy of all involved parties.
They end up in the communications room, ironically enough, surrounded by microphones and holoscreens and tracking channels, all currently inactive.
“So,” says Dinah, settling into one of the consoles and swiveling to face him. “What’s this about?”
“Aqualad and Red Arrow,” says Dick simply, and he sees a brief look cross the heroine’s face, so subtle and fleeting that most people wouldn’t even notice it, but he does - some mixture of regret and disappointment, perhaps with a hint of disbelief. It tells him that he has come to speak to the right person.
“What about them?” Dinah asks, her mannerisms now more controlled.
“I need your professional opinion,” he says. “You know them both well, right?”
“Yes,” she replies. “As well as either of their own mentors, I think it’s fair to say.”
Dick knows that - Dinah had been one of the first (possibly the first) to know when the two of them had first become an item, and while Dick knows plenty about both his friends individually, he’d had few chances to see them together in that sense. Their partnership had been a subtle thing, not a secret but not exactly public either; Dick had pieced the truth together through the small things - a hand lingering just a little too long; softness in an otherwise gruff tone; sudden warmth in a deameanor usually cool and reserved.
“Were you…surprised, then?” he asks slowly, trying to figure out how best to ask this.
She looks at him, expression neutral.
“By what?”
“Their falling out.”
“I think everyone was.”
It’s a deflection, and Dick needs more specific information than that.
“Kaldur wouldn’t have left Roy in the middle of a relapse unless he knew someone else was keeping an eye him,” says Dick, trying a new approach. “I’m betting that person was you.”
“Yes,” Dinah confirms. “I received a communication from Kaldur late one night, asking me to come look after Roy. By the time I got there he was already gone.”
“And did Roy say anything about what had happened?”
“Roy was somewhere south of coherent when I arrived. Where are you going with this, Robin?”
“To the point where Kaldur asked M’gann to wipe his memories,” says Dick. “Which was…out of character. I want to know if he had all the pieces of the puzzle when he did that, or if there was some kind of misunderstanding.”
Dinah leans back and looks away, her expression clouding.
“I…can’t give you an answer to that,” she says after a moment, looking back to him. “Not only because it isn’t my business - or yours - to pass judgment on something that’s already happened, but because I don’t know. Kaldur didn’t consult me.”
“He didn’t?” asks Dick in surprise. He’d assumed at the very least, Kaldur had sought someone’s counsel before taking action, if only because the Atlantean was normally so cautious, and Canary would have been the logical (and precedented) choice.
“No,” Dinah replies, crossing her legs. “If I had to guess, I’d say he worried I was too close to Roy to give him impartial advice.”
“Right,” Dick frowns.
They’re silent a moment as he processes this new information, until finally Dinah shifts in her chair, bringing him back to the present moment.
“Is that all you wanted to talk about?” she asks.
“One more question, sorry,” he says, thinking. “Would you say…would you say this was inevitable, eventually? I mean the fallout, not the memory erasure. Did you see it coming?”
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“Not in a thousand years.”
Dick nods, satisfied. He thanks Canary, fires off a text to Wally, and heads for the showers.
Stage one complete.
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Data-Gather, Stage Two: Miss Martian
She’s not in the kitchen, which catches him off guard. She’s in there so often he’d pretty much assumed she’d at least be in the vicinity, trying out some new recipe or another, but as it turns out she’s outside on the beach, even though it’s kind of cold for that.
“Hey,” he says, quietly so as not to startle her. She turns, the wind stirring the ends of her hair, and smiles at his approach.
“Hey, Robin,” she greets. “What’s up?”
From her tone, he can tell she’s surprised to see him (he usually leaves after training on weekdays), but it’s not an unwelcome kind of surprise. She’s been a little sad since the encounter with Roy and he knows that she still doubts her judgment, so he deduces that she’s probably out here to think, and would be glad of the company.
“Can I talk to you about the whole memory thing?” he asks, cutting straight to the point.
M’gann nods.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” she confesses.
“Yeah?”
“I just don’t know what I should have done,” she continues, biting her lip. “He was so…just, so sad. I just wanted to help.”
“No one blames you,” Dick reassures her, laying a hand on her arm. “Things are just a little more complicated than we thought, I guess.”
“I know,” she sighs. “I…don’t know what to do.”
“You said it was like Bialya, right?” he asks, and she nods in confirmation. “You restored our memories then. Could you do it again? Just put the pieces back together the way you took them apart?”
“I…no,” M’gann says haltingly, and looks even more miserable, as if embarrassed by her own inability to undo what she has done. “I wish I could, but it’s not that simple this time.”
“How so?”
“Well…imagine that your memory is made up of thousands of threads,” she begins to explain, “all of them stretching back to the first time you experienced something, a person or a place or a feeling. When Psimon made us forget, he took everything, six months’ whole cloth, so you were left with a bunch of frayed ends, incomplete chains of memory that your mind really did want to fill in - that’s how you and Wally and Artemis knew you’d lost your memories.”
“Right,” says Dick, trying to follow.
“It was easy for me to go in and find those frayed places,” M’gann continues. “Then all I had to do was fix the severances, and you were linked back up with the rest of your memory. What Psimon did was a quick hack-off. But what I did to Kaldur…it’s…cleaner, because I was cutting off a specific thread, all the way back to its root. His mind doesn’t recognize that anything is wrong, because there’s no start or end or even a piece of that thread connected to anything else anymore, it’s been too neatly severed. Our telling him that he’s forgotten something won’t change that.”
“But they’re still there?” checks Dick. “The memories?”
“Theoretically,” M’gann says, biting her lip. “But realistically…they’re lost. I don’t know where to look. There’s no damage to mark the place where that thread was.”
“Right,” Dick frowns. He’s silent a moment, trying to navigate this new perspective on memory.
“I’m sorry,” M’gann says after a moment, her shoulders slumping. “I wish…I wish I could help.”
“You already have,” Dick says, shaking his head and giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Here’s another question, though. If we somehow managed to make Kaldur remember any part of that thread - of his past with Roy - could you use that to dig up the rest of it?”
“Well, yes,” replies M’gann hesitantly. “But it wouldn’t be enough just to tell him what he should be remembering.”
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“Memory is more than just remembering the facts,” he says. “I get that. But you saw that look on his face when Roy kissed him, right after he’d found out about the whole thing. There was still something there.”
“A trigger,” M’gann says suddenly, turning to him as her eyes light up in recognition. “A sufficiently powerful trigger could bring a subconscious memory to the surface, and make it conscious again.”
He nods - some good news, at last.
“And from there, you could do the rest?”
She nods, the hint of a hopeful smile lighting up her face.
“Excellent,” Dick says. “Thanks for the help, Megan.”
He claps her on the arm and heads for the Cave, already pulling out his phone.
(312): kf, when are you going to see roy next?
(217): prob tomorrow after school, y?
(312): got a job for you.
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Data-Gather, Stage Three: Aqualad
There’s only one thing left to do.
One thing Dick has learned from Batman is that having a good plan isn’t enough - you have to be certain it’s the best plan, because you could end up living with the consequences longer than you know, and nothing bites worse than realizing that a little more fact-checking could have saved you a world of trouble. So while it’s enough to him on one level that KF and Canary believe things shouldn’t have ended the way they did, that M’gann thinks it’s possible to restore Kaldur’s lost memories, he needs to see for himself that they’re doing the right thing in trying to reverse the events of the last few weeks. After all, Kaldur made his decision for a reason. If they’re going to overrule him, they’d better be damn sure it’s for the best.
He finds his team leader in the library, poring over a set of sorcery textbooks.
“Hey, Kaldur,” says Dick as he slides into the chair opposite him.
“Good evening,” Kaldur greets, looking up from his books and setting his pen aside. In front of him are notes and diagrams and charts, copied out in the meticulous hand of a scholar-soldier; it seems he’s been up here for many hours, studying.
“Haven’t had a chance to check in for a while,” says Dick. “How’re you doing?”
It’s an odd question, because of course to Kaldur this last week has been no different from any other, but it’s worth asking.
“I am well,” Kaldur replies evenly. “And yourself?”
“Fine,” Dick dismisses. He turns one of Kaldur’s books towards himself; he can’t read a word of the Atlantean, but the pictures are pretty cool, displaying the various stances needed for certain spells, or the different energy configurations that will boost the endurance or speed or strength of a construct. “Whatcha studying?”
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“Got it,” Dick nods, turning the page. “It’s review, then?”
“Mostly,” says Kaldur. “The later chapters are beyond my skill.”
“Fair enough.”
Dick flicks through a few more pages, mentally sorting through various ways of steering this conversation in a more personal direction. Ultimately he opts to lead the charge himself, though he can only say so much. Hopefully it will be enough.
“You know, when I first started working with Bats, he let me keep up with what I’d been doing before,” he says casually, keeping his eyes on the book. There’s an illustration of a woman using a wand to create a protective dome around herself, but Dick’s mind is elsewhere - he’s remembering the trapeze Bruce had installed in the Batcave a few weeks after he’d taken him in. It had taken him months to work up the courage to use it (too much baggage), but when he had, he’d found solace in the familiar, a comfort nothing else could have given him. He has a suspicion these books are like that trapeze.
He looks up to find that Kaldur is watching him, as if waiting for him to go on.
“You miss it, ever?” he asks. “Life before the hero gig?”
“No,” says Kaldur slowly. “Though…I am not without regrets.”
“Yeah?”
Kaldur shrugs, looking back down at his notes.
“It is of little consequence.”
“Then there’s no harm in saying it.”
Kaldur is silent a moment, thumb brushing over the corner of the paper.
“I do wonder, sometimes…” he begins hesitantly. “Of late, I find myself questioning my place on the surface world.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have great affection for the team,” Kaldur clarifies, looking up at Dick. “I count you all among my closest friends, without a doubt. But if I am honest with myself, I sometimes wonder if this is truly where I belong.”
Dick nods, remembering something.
“Are you homesick?” he asks.
“It is not quite that simple,” replies Kaldur, brow furrowing. “It is more that I find my days…empty, somehow. That when I am not with the team…I am unsure of my purpose.”
He stares at the books, and a strange look crosses his face, a frustrated sort of concentration. Kaldur isn’t usually so open with stuff like this, but Dick has a feeling it’s been on his mind, and since he’s been invited to share, he’s taking the opportunity.
“Well, you have a lot of spare time you didn’t used to have,” he points out softly.
“I am aware,” Kaldur frowns, and Dick recalls the Atlantean’s reaction when they’d explained his own actions to him - incredulity, confusion, then finally acceptance.
“Maybe you just need to find something else to do,” he suggests, playing devil’s advocate to his own purposes. “Something to fill the time, you know?”
“Perhaps,” Kaldur sighs, gathering his papers into a single stack. “Or perhaps…when the opportunity presents itself, after you have assumed leadership, I will…return home for a little while. A sojourn, to clear my head.”
As he listens, Dick knows what Kaldur is really saying, even if Kaldur himself doesn’t realize he’s saying it: if he goes home to Atlantis, he won’t be coming back. As much as the team respects and appreciates Kaldur (and they do, plenty), they can’t give him what Roy gave him: purpose, passion, a place to belong. Just as Kaldur is Roy’s anchor, grounding him through the chaos and pain of his own fucked-up life, Roy is Kaldur’s, the one who finally penetrated through all the distance and self-doubt and proved that he does belong here, and always can.
Without Roy, Kaldur is drifting, and he doesn’t even know it.
“Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do,” says Dick, rising from his chair. “Good luck.”
Kaldur returns to his studies, and probably never realizes that Dick was not speaking about Atlantis at all.
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