Chapter Text
On Target
By Dannell Lites and Kerithwyn Jade
"You know, Roy, if you had a brain, you'd be dangerous!" I snarled. "Fortunately, since you're almost entirely brain-free, it's *not* a problem!"
With his fair skin, when Roy Harper turns red in the face for any reason, he turns really, really red. And his freckles show. He *hates* that. As far as he's concerned, it's just one more thing that makes him feel like a kid. I know that. Matter of fact, I know Roy pretty well. I ought to, anyway. I've only known him since we were about thirteen. Almost half my life now, for God's sake. We joke and kid around a lot, even now, but Roy just never knows when to stop. He's always pushing the outside of the envelope to see how far he can go.
There are some things Roy knows better than to crack jokes about.
Bruce is one of them.
Even halfway across the room, I heard his teeth grinding and I almost surrendered to temptation and smiled. But unlike Roy, I *do* know when to quit.
He just had to have the last word, though. Couldn't leave it alone.
"Oh yeah, Bird Brain?" he sneered at me. "Well, at least I'm not the back half of ‘Batman and…!’"
Damn him.
"No," I said sharply, "You're not the back half of anything, Roy. Ollie was never around long enough for that, was he?"
Roy's eyes narrowed and he hissed, "If Bruce is such a swell guy, Dicky-boy, then why can't you face him, huh?"
Without another word I slammed my way to my room, leaving Roy glowering in my furious wake. Probably a good thing Ace the Bat-Hound is sad history, so I didn't have a pet to kick around. See, that's the thing with letting people know you: they discover all the soft spots, all the vulnerable areas that hurt like hell. All the weaknesses they can take advantage of in a fight.
Sometimes I think Bruce is right.
He thinks, if he doesn’t let anyone know him, he can’t be hurt. So he locks his emotions up deep, withdraws his feelings from the world and those who know him. He becomes the Bat: cold, logical, ruthless, unstoppable. But despite all his best efforts, some of us managed to find a way inside that shell and discovered a man who loves—when he *allows* himself to love—with an intensity so powerful it burns. Those few who love him, and who are loved, would die for him on the instant: Alfred, Barbara, Tim. And me.
Sometimes I think Bruce is right. Usually I know better. I can’t lock my heart in a box and pretend it doesn’t exist. Which means that those who know me, know me *very* well. And can hurt me. Those are the moments I feel the Bat creeping ‘round the edges, whispering, even though I’ve already won that battle. I cannot be him, will never be him.
But yes. I understand Bruce very, very well.
Roy, on the other hand, doesn't understand Bruce at all. The only thing Roy knows about Bruce is that Bruce scares the crap right out of him. Roy doesn't like to face his fears. He's just as soon not admit that he has them, thank you very much. He's not the only one.
*("If Bruce is such a swell guy, Dicky-boy, then why can't you face him, huh?")*
On the other hand, Roy thinks I'm perfect and it irritates him to no end. As far as he's concerned, I
make everything *look* too damned easy…just the way Batman does, but without the scary part. Most of Bruce's JLA colleagues have no idea how hard he works to maintain that image, and that's just fine with the Batman. Oh, I think Superman probably knows…but he's too polite to say anything. They may not be the best of friends, but Superman has a lot of respect for the Batman. And well, he's…Superman, okay?
I like to think Roy respects me…but I'm never sure. That laser-zap mouth makes it hard to tell. I could be wrong. I’m not arrogant enough to believe I never make mistakes; I can’t fool myself that much.
Just everybody else.
"Hey, Robbo! " came Arsenal's angry voice as he pounded on my door. Robbo...now there was a blast from the past. Roy isn't the only one who doesn't like being reminded that there are still people who think he's a child.
"Helpless without the big, bad Bat, huh, Boy Blunder? Open up!" Even through the door I could hear him singing, "Who's afraid of the big bad Bat...the big bad Bat...? Who's afraid of the big bad Bat—little Robbie, not me!"
See what I mean about not knowing when to quit?
For some reason I hastily slapped my mask back on. Maybe I just didn't want to face him as Dick Grayson. Though that’s a little closer to Bruce’s modus operandi than mine.
"Come on in, Arrow-Breath!" I called cheerfully.
Childish? Oh, yeah. Roy and I hadn't fought and called names like this since the early days of the Teen Titans when Roy was convinced I was trying to beat his time with Donna. Now *that* little bit of psychological ammo made me smile. Never mind that it hadn’t been true at all.
Roy was spoiling for a fight. Unfortunately for him, he was gonna get it. One of the things that Roy
resents the most about me is that he's afraid I'm smarter than he is.
He's right. I am. I learned to play these little games from a master; I just usually don't play them with my friends.
For Roy, I was about to make an exception.
My door exploded inward, banged itself loudly on the wall, and rebounded like a basketball. Roy Harper stood framed in my doorway like a portrait by Picasso; a study in wrath. He was still red-faced and breathing in short shallow breaths through his mouth, a picture of anger and frustration.
Perfect.
"The Bat-Cave's history, buddy!" Roy jeered. "You're not livin' there anymore, remember? Turn up the damned lights! I *can* hit a target I can't see...but it's not as much fun."
One of the first lessons Bruce ever taught me was how important state of mind can be to a fight. Any fight. "Don't ever go into a struggle angry, chum," he told me. "You'll lose. Learn to use your anger, to channel it and make it work for you."
Memories are a bitch, aren't they? Bruce hasn't called me "chum" in…a very long time. But there's still a small part of me that warmed at the sound of that word from his lips. Mostly I think because it isn't "son" and friends aren't bound by the same rules as…sons. I try not to think about it a lot.
Silently, I moved across the room, making sure that I passed the nightstand with its prominent picture of Donna. Roy's eyes followed me as I knew they would. I watched from the corner of my eyes as his gaze fell on the old photo, and his jaw set and then hardened. I almost smiled, but I suppressed it. Wouldn't do to betray myself so early in the game, would it?
"What brings you here, Harper? Did you *lose* something?" Oh, yeah. He knew where this was going, all right, I could tell by the way his face drained from red to white in an instant. I thought: *You* started this, buddy, with that crack about Bruce, and I'm finishing it.
From the way his fingers tensed and flexed I was glad he didn't have his bow. I *have* dodged arrows before, mind you, but I prefer not to make a habit of it. "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that, Grayson?" Roy spat between clenched teeth. “Learned that from your ‘dad’?”
Sonova—
"Is this what you learned from *yours?!* Ollie would be so proud…" The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them and I winced. But it was too late to call them back.
All right. I lied. Sometimes I don't know when to quit, either. It's the price of being human, rather than the Bat.
But when I saw the open fury on Roy's face I knew I had overstepped the unspoken bounds. Yep, one step too far. Damn, damn, damn. Why is it that Bruce makes me this crazy? What is it about him I—
I derailed that train of thought faster than you can say "repression," boys and girls, and bit the inside of my lip until I tasted blood. Roy and I were both bleeding now, on the inside where no one could see. Way to go, Grayson. Did I mean to hurt Roy like this?
I…don't think so. God, I hope not.
He just…pushes me. He *always* knows how to push me. He always has. "Arsenal"—now there's a well-chosen codename. Arrows or words, his weapons strike right to the target.
It's my own damned fault he had such an easy target to hit, too.
*("…then why can't you face him, huh?")*
But that's still no excuse for what I'd said. "Roy, I…I'm sorry, I—"
"Shut. Up." He was dead pale and his eyes turned cold and if there'd been a weapon in his hand, I might've been a corpse.
Oh, hell. Goddamn it all to hell. Grayson, you stupid, *stupid* bastard!
Roy jokes a lot. He laughs and says he's a screw-up, and that he has an inferiority complex, and that he's basically no good. We all laugh and agree and it's all in good fun, right?
Yeah, *right*.
The problem is, Roy Harper believes all that. He's been abandoned so many times he doesn't believe that anyone who loves him will stay, or even that they really do love him at all. He struggled with temptation and lost because he didn't believe his life was worth fighting for. These days he's trying to make up for that, but his doubts remain. I think they always will.
The fact that *we* believe in him and love him helps. Sometimes. But not often enough.
I pulled the mask off and tossed it onto the dresser. Reaching out, I touched his shoulder. "God, Roy, I'm sorry. I never should have—"
He cut me off in mid-word, furiously. "No, you shouldn't have, Bat Brain!" he snarled, and threw off
my hand with a motion as sharp as one of his arrows. "You've got a lot of nerve, picking on a dead guy, Grayson! Ollie's…" he closed his eyes and his lips trembled. "…Ollie was no saint, but he did the best he could by me. He tried! He tried to change. He—he just—he just *couldn't* that's all. He didn't know how to handle the responsibility of a kid. He thought he'd be getting a pal, a buddy, a little bro’…"
I released a sharp, relieved breath when he didn't use the word "chum."
"…somebody to play with, not another leech on his play-time. Not somebody else who needed his
attention!"
I blinked. Don't let anyone ever tell you that Roy Harper doesn't understand people. He doesn't understand himself...but he'd nailed that one. No wonder; he’d had plenty of time to think about it.
I loved my real parents, I truly did. When they died, if it hadn't been for Bruce…
Yeah, I loved them. A lot. But it didn't stop me from being angry; from feeling as though they had abandoned me by dying and leaving me behind. Poor Roy. Abandoned so many times by so many…and here was Ollie dying and carrying out the ultimate abandonment.
Christ.
I didn't touch him. It probably wouldn't have been wise just then. I had to let my voice tell Roy how
sorry I was, and that wasn't easy. Neither Roy nor I have a single superpower to our names. When we fight we need all the help we can get from any available source. Like Oliver used to, Roy likes to distract his foes with what he thinks of as witty repartee—dazzle them with bullshit. You'd be amazed how often they underestimate him as a result. I learned in a different school, from a different teacher. I've got "the voice" down to a science after all this time, believe me. Works like a charm, but it can get out of hand. It's been known to slip out of my mouth at really bad times, if I’m not careful.
"I know, Roy," I returned quietly. "Believe me, I *know.* Think I don't realize what it feels like? Oh
yeah, Roy, I do. I've seen it too; the struggle, the *trying*…and the defeat when he just can't do it, when he just can't say it….Oh yeah."
He stood there breathing hard, puffing like a steam locomotive, then took several deep, calming breaths before he answered with a frown. "Yeah, I guess you do, at that."
"Well, well, Arrow Man," I quipped, not really amused at all, "ain't we a pair…ain't we a pair…."
That made him smile and I was glad. "Friends?"
"Yeah, don't get your short pants in a wad."
I held out a hand to shake, and when he reached out to take it I pulled him close and wrapped my arms around him.
He started, surprised. "Hey, Dickie, I don't love you *that* much, man…."
My turn to growl. "Shut up, Harper." I held him firmly and after a moment he relaxed into it. Except—
He wasn't relaxed at all, but shaking so hard I thought he might fall. He tried to pull away at the
same time that his hands clutched at the back of my shirt, almost desperately. "I'm f-fine, Dick, lemme go—"
I would have missed it if I'd been taught by anyone but Bruce, but there it was: the slightest tremor in his voice. Roy really wasn't all right after all. So much desperation in that simple touch…. I've clung to…others…like that. I know what it means. He needed to know that somebody cared; that somebody loved him.
So here's the part where I was supposed to clap him on the back and send him off, right? Can't break the real he-man facade, nope, no emotions here.
To hell with that.
I looked into Roy Harper’s green eyes and saw more pain there than I’d ever seen before—and that’s going some. I sat by his bedside and watched Roy claw his way out of the hell of heroin addiction. I've seen him face down super-powered villains that would give Superman pause with nothing but a bow and some arrows. I heard him tell the entire tribe of Tachini Navajo to kiss his lily-white butt. I've heard him laugh, I've heard him cry out in pain, but I swear, until that moment I'd never been so afraid for him.
I was going to lose Roy, I could feel it. He had to know that he *mattered,* that there was at least one person who wasn't going to leave him when he needed them.
I brought my mouth next to Roy's ear and said, "I'm not letting go, because I'm sorry, and you're my friend, and I do love you."
He got as far as, "Oh, sh—" before I felt him shudder, and then he grabbed me and—
I swear I didn't instigate it. Hadn't even been thinking it when I held him.
But he grabbed me and shoved me up against the wall and *kissed* me hard enough to bruise.
About the only thing I had time to think was, “What the hell…?” Roy’s about the straightest guy in the superhero business—no, I take that back. That’s Wally. But all the inherent kinkiness about costumes and masks aside, Roy’s always chased women. Aggressively. Ceaselessly. I had *no* idea where this reaction was coming from.
And I really should’ve taken the time to figure it out, except I’ve never been good at saying “no.” Look at what happened with the Huntress, for God’s sake. Kory, Joey, Mirage-pretending-to-be-Kory, Emily, Miggie, Helena—and I would’ve slept with Babs first and foremost way back when if she hadn’t realized Bruce would’ve skinned her alive for touching his underage ward.
But those overactive Dick Grayson hormones kicked in, and I kissed him back. Hard. Hard enough to reopen the wound where I’d bitten down before, the iron taste flooding our mouths as our tongues fought for dominance. He caught my lower lip in his teeth, sucking, and at that point there just wasn’t any stopping.
The next minute we were on the floor, wrestling with each other's clothes. Roy was cursing, a quick steady stream of obscenity. "Goddammit, Grayson always has to have the last fucking word, I'll shut you up this time, I swear—"
I'm not stupid. I kept my mouth shut. Well, except for gasping at the way he…*ravaged* my body, all that frustration and desperation transmuting into lust through some strange emotional alchemy. It was rough and fast and almost brutal, all hands and tearing clothes and frantic thrusting against each other. When he came he bit the side of my neck, and though he didn’t draw blood, the next day I was glad for the fact that my Nightwing costume covers my throat.
He rolled away onto his back, arm flung over his eyes and breathing in deep, hitching gulps. After a couple of minutes of continued silence I didn’t know whether he was still reeling or just—afraid?—to face me, so I had to ask. “Roy? You all right?”
“Yeah.” And that was it. Not good.
“Hey, *Speedy,* look at me, wouldya?”
He sat up and glanced over in my direction but refused to meet my eyes. “Dick, I, uh—”
I could’ve said a couple dozen different things but somehow, I bit my tongue and let him get it out.
He raised his head and started to say something, then spotted the beginnings of the bruise he’d made. “Oh jeez, look at your neck, I’m sorry, I don’t know why I, uh, I mean, I’m not, um, and you’re not…”
Well, he was wrong about at least one of those half-formed thoughts. “Calm down, Roy. It’s all right, you didn’t hurt me, and—uh, I guess I never got around to telling you about me and Joey….”
“You and—! You gotta be kiddin’ me! When’d you—never mind, I don’t wanna know.” He shook his head, obviously stunned. “You think you know a guy—”
“But you do.” I caught his eye and held it, another handy trick from the Bat-arsenal. “You *do* know me. Which is why you drive me crazy, sometimes.”
“Sure, but….” Gotta admit I was bracing for a straight-guy panic attack. Roy surprised me, though;
his next words were a lot milder than I’d expected. “You, uh, really got to me so it was either kiss you or kill you, and I didn’t want to have to explain your corpse to the Bat. Or Donna. Or hell, half the known world.”
Mild as that was, he was starting to look even more uncomfortable, so I took that as my cue. “It’s all right, Roy, don’t worry about it.” I got up, picked up a tattered “Gotham Knights” T-shirt to toss over the shreds of my costume, and started for the door. I figured he was embarrassed enough, he wouldn’t want to deal with me any more today.
Like I said, sometimes I’m wrong.
“Don’t go yet.”
He said it so quietly I barely heard him.
I turned around. He was still sitting on the floor, head down but flushed again—no, *blushing,* as red as his hair. “Please don’t go.”
I dropped back down next to him and took his hands in mine. “Roy?”
He still wouldn’t look at me. “I…I….”
“Shhhh.” I freed one hand and lifted his chin and kissed him, gently. When he didn’t pull away I drew him closer.
There are times when we all need comfort from our friends; sometimes, only the physical kind can help. Joey had been that for me. Roy…needed this, now.
His mouth opened slowly to me, tasting of leather and desert winds and that abominably hot chili he’d made for dinner. He made a noise in the back of his throat, something between a laugh and a sob, and clutched at my arms. I felt his tongue reach for mine tentatively, and then more confidently.
A slow learner, he’s not.
We pulled apart for a breath. His eyes were still a little too bright, but I saw the beginnings of a
typical Roy Harper smirk around the corners of his mouth and I knew it’d be all right. I decided I could risk a little humor. “So. You gonna show me your arsenal, or what?”
{continued in next post}