Well. That could have gone worse.
He could have been shot.
Roy suspected that in the time it took Jason to turn around and recognize him, he was already taking stock of the different ways to attack, to defend himself, all the while wondering what this untold threat could be. It was so completely Jason, that the red head couldn’t imagine those brief seconds in the older man’s mind going any other way. Roy was a little surprised at the fact that a gun hadn’t been pulled, Jason didn’t so much have his hands on one when he turned around. So he was getting better at controlling his impulses? Or did this showcase some of that ‘change in character’ he had been wondering about?
Still, in the brief moment it took Jason to stride across the room, the ex-SEAL wondered if maybe the gunslinger was going for a more personal touch. A punch across the jaw wouldn’t exactly be welcome, but he figured he deserved it. Yet, ah, Jason was walking straight past him, a hard ‘No.’ as his response. So he didn’t want to deal with this, wanted to push his feelings and turmoil aside? It was such a Jason response, one he knew so well, that Roy couldn’t help but grin. Turning on his heel, following, he watched the lift carry Jason up and up, before heading to the stairs himself. He didn’t have the will nor the patience right now, to wait for it to come back down for him.
Maybe this had been the right thing to do. Maybe they could work it out. The red head wasn’t so disillusioned to think that he could fix this, that he could just show up and everything would be okay. This was going to be hard, and it was going to be painful, but Roy’d like to think it was worth it. So he’d fake nonchalance, because in a situation like this, nothing would make Jason angrier, and the sooner Jason got angry, the sooner they could move past it. Jason was Roy’s best friend, and if the militant needed to take a beating before he could be anything close to accepted back into his best friend’s life, he was willing to do it.
Barely breathing hard, Roy stepped out onto the open roof. He could see Jason’s posture change, see him tense ever so slightly, shoulder’s stiff, though they didn’t look to be. This was his friend, his brother, a person who, sometimes, the red head thought he knew better than he knew himself, and he wondered if that assumption would still hold true.
“Hey, man. I… Look, I know this has gotta’ be the total last thing you wanna talk about. But, it’s sorta… Well, y’know— gotta be talked about.” So he wasn’t a modern day Shakespeare, cut him some slack. The ex- SEAL had a lot more pressing matters in his time alive than learning how to turn everything he said into poetry. The few moments he could string a few verses together— well those times were reserved for those Roy hoped to better get to know. If you caught his meaning.
Still, this required at least some thought on his part, especially if he planned to figure out the best way to navigate such a minefield. Where did he start? What did he say? ‘Surprise, Jaybird. I’m actually not dead. I never was dead. But I couldn’t tell you. Mostly because I relapsed and had no idea where I was half the time. Yeah, and you know that woman, Amanda Waller? The one who almost got me killed in Africa? Well, I started working for her again until I realized I didn’t owe her anymore and I wanted to come home. So can I come home?’ Yeah. Cause that wasn’t an explanation that would blow up in his face. Unfortunately for him, however, it was the truth. It was just a matter of explaining with a bit more… tact.
Roy didn’t like to be full of himself, well, okay, he did, it was in his nature, but he was also self aware enough to know what he meant people. The red head knew what he meant to his dad, to the reservation and to Dinah. He knew what he was to Ollie, to Amanda and the rest of the SEAL team. Roy knew what he was to Kory, and he knew who he was through Jason’s eyes; so he understood what it must of felt like, to find out he was dead. Or so he thought. Still, he also knew the types of lives lead by Outlaws, and it must have been seven types of hell around and following his death. Jason wasn’t just going to be upset that he never came forward with the truth, Jason was going to blame him for all the issues Roy had abandoned him to deal with alone.
“You can’t deny the situation forever, Jaybird. I’m standing right here. And I’m gonna stay here ‘til you say something. And ‘no’ isn’t a sufficient something.”
There was a tightness in his chest, a pressure that constricted his thoughts and sent adrenaline surging through his body. The all too familiar panic attacks he used to get in the years following his death had started with this sensation, and it was only a decade and a half of experience that allowed Jason to harness the event, rather than let it control him.
The shakes were easy. Breathe, in and out. In, out. The muscles would loosen up sooner or later. The racing pulse would follow. It was the flashbacks that were the worst. The crowbar lifting up against a florescent light, drops of blood and brain matter fanning away from it in a cinnamon spray. The horrible, horrible laughter.
An involuntary shudder ripped through Jason, and he let it run its course. For years, he had tried to suppress the episodes, eventually learning that the best method of treatment was to accept them. Still, he hadn’t had one since…Well, since the night after Bane was killed. After he’d accepted that his teammate, his First Mate, his best friend, was dead.
Godammit, Harper. God fucking dammit. We buried you. We moved on. We tried to forget. We dealt with your loss. And now, to find out you’ve been alive? That you put us all through this for nothing? That’s not something brothers do. Kori won’t ever be the same. Dick, sure. Chalk that up as the silver lining. But to toss away the two life debts you claimed you owed me for this? Never again.
Roy was rambling, stumbling from word to word like he was afraid Jason would kill him at the first silence. To be fair, Roy wasn’t far wrong; however, Jason would at least wait to hear the story before deciding to kill Roy. Jason wasn’t in a hurry anymore.
Still looking out over the Gotham skyline, Jason pulled out a pack of cloves, putting the first one in between his lips. Turning slightly to look behind him, he spoke around the cigarette. “You have until this pack is empty to convince me not to kill you where you stand.” The Zippo clicked, and flame erupted around the tip of the black cigarette. “There are four after this. Go.”
and all of this will never be the same again 