“Henri. Henri! Where the fuck are you?" 

Jason scowled. The Frenchman was nowhere to be found, which probably meant he was marauding around in the Dragon, keeping a presence out for the Outlaws. It wasn’t really necessary, however. The Artificial Intelligence that powered the Dragon’s autopilot was the finest bit of software engineering Ilya and Redstone Security had come up with to date. By feeding off a network of police radio, 911 calls, and crime reports, the Dragon was able to actively patrol and keep a presence out, with no human required at the helm.

It was, Jason thought, the coolest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

Okay, fine. It was more like a flag than anything else, an appearance intended to scare and dissuade. But still. Totally fucking cool.

The addition of the Dragon had been a huge help to the Outlaw’s mission of protecting their swath of Gotham; even in the Narrows, the crime rate was beginning to drop back to where it was before the Blackout. 

The Blackout. What a load of shitty luck that had been. Conflicting reports were still coming out about who was behind it, but most signs pointed at Black Mask as the perpetrator. That didn’t explain why he did it, but at least there were leads now. Black Mask had been on the Red Hood’s radar for months, but he’d been loathe to engage in a full on gang war with the man. Still, whenever one of Mask’s drug peddlers had been dumb enough to enter his territory, Jason had made sure to relieve him of both his stash (which he incinerated) and his cash (which he kept, usually as an excuse to take Dick out to a strip club or gun store), leaving the peddler to run, terrified, back to whatever lieutenant had been stupid enough to assign him to that city block. 

After confirming that the Dragon was indeed out and about, Jason swore violently, mostly because he’d had the exact same plan as Henri had: get massively, dangerously intoxicated and watch criminals get terrorized by 60 million dollars worth of flying justice. Sure, he could override the controls and bring the Dragon back to the Complex himself, but that seemed like overkill. 

With a sigh, Jason put the display to sleep, noting that Henri was currently above the West Village. He made his way up the stairs to the Library, deciding that tonight was a good night to brood. Crossing the room to the largest bookshelf, Jason pulled back on a copy of Domia abr Wyrda, watching as the book activated a hidden switch, which in turn revealed a wet bar that had been concealed behind a bookshelf. 

The Library was much more than a room full of old books; Jason had poured several million dollars into that room alone. The aquarium that filled the North wall illuminated everything with a soft blue glow, and Jason remembered the way Dick had described it when he had seen it for the first time.

”It’s more like an ocean viewing room that just happened to have some books in it, Jay.“ 

Shaking off the memory, Jason stepped behind the bar to grab a bottle of Laphroaig single malt scotch, the 25 year. Pulling the stopper out with his teeth, he spit the cork at the bar top, where it bounced twice before rolling to a stop. Taking a seat in front of the aquarium, he sat heavily in his favorite armchair, where he took a deep quaff of the scotch. It burned pleasantly as it went down his throat, warming him from the core.

As he so often did, he began to speak to Mudryy, explaining the events of the last few months. How Kory had returned to the Outlaws, after their fight. How Dick was now accompanying them on patrol, and how his brother’s training had culminated in producing a young man that could go toe to toe with the Red Hood himself. He spoke of the Dragon, and how the crime rate was beginning to drop, albeit slowly. Of the Blackout, and what it meant for the future of their team. 

He started slowly, almost hesitantly, but quickly built up confidence as his deep baritone splashed against the thick plexiglass of the enclosure. He knew, of course, that the whale shark could not possibly understand what he was saying, but he took comfort in knowing that he’d always have someone to talk to, regardless of how bad things got. 

As he drew to a close, finishing a story of the recent developments with Kori, he realized that his bottle was empty. With a small scowl, he stood, swaying a little more than he had expected. The scotch was old, and the proof was around 110, if he remembered correctly. Grabbing a new one, he plunked himself down in front of the mirror Zatanna had left by the fireplace so long ago, and remembered what she’d said to him as he unwrapped the cloth package it had been in.

He’d looked at her with an expression of confusion and curiosity when he’d opened it, not understanding why Zat would give him a mirror. It wasn’t overly large; it was ovular, perhaps twelve inches from top to bottom. She’d insisted he mount it on an empty lampstand, and she’d adjusted it to sit at Jay’s eye level before turning to face him, clearly eager to explain.

"First of all, shut up. Second, I got you this because you seem to insist on keeping yourself a mystery, which is perfectly fine, if you ask me. I like mysteries. Thirdly, we both travel all the time, and I don’t like the idea of you trying to track me down by yourself. I get into too many situations that you’d just fuck up should you interfere, so I made you this.” With a flourish, she tilted the mirror until it showed Jason’s head, his hair cut short and his face clean shaven. 
“It’s enchanted! All you need to do, should you ever want to reach me, is say ‘Wohs em Annataz Arataz!’, and this mirror will show me, and in turn, show you. Instant communication!” She beamed as his eyes widened, understanding the implications of what she meant. 

"So you’re saying, as long as you hold the matching mirror, we can speak to each other?” She nodded.

“I don’t necessarily need the mirror; all I need is a reflective surface. But yes, in principle, you are correct. The magic won’t come from you, of course. I’ve imbued the mirror with certain spells, so as to feed off your energy when you use it. It won’t take much, and I doubt you’ll notice any effects. Just be careful, okay? Should you contact me, and fall asleep, the spell will continue to feed off your life force until you wake up and sever the connection, or the energy in your body ceases to exist.” She glowered at him. “All you need to say to remove the spell is ‘Epiw naelc’, and the magic will stop. Got it?”

Jason nodded. “I think so. Now go upstairs, so I can try this.” She obeyed, and soon, Jason had mastered the skill to her satisfaction.

He peered into the reflection now, his eyes tracing the thick beard and long ponytail he’d been growing since Zatanna had left. He liked the look; she had hated it. The beard was thick and full, and reached just past his collarbone. His hair hung down between his shoulderblades, neatly tied at the base of his skull. Raising the bottle to his lips, he took an enormous gulp before muttering ’Wohs em Annataz Arataz!’

The mirror rippled, as if struck. Initially, it showed nothing but blackness; then, slowly, an image began to appear. At first, all Jason could see was a dull red glow, probably from a fireplace. Soon, rows upon rows of bookshelves filled the mirror, shadows dancing wildly as the flames danced in the unseen hearth. He was just about to release the spell when a pair of almond shaped eyes appeared in the mirror. His breath caught in his throat. “Zat?” 

The eyes widened in surprise, then quickly returned to normal as Zatanna regained her composure. To Jason, it seemed as she stepped backwards; he had no idea if she was looking at a matching mirror or not. His knowledge of magic was vague, and Zatanna had never been much for teaching him the vagaries of it.

"Jason Todd?” She asked incredulously. “What the fuck is on your face?" 

Out of all the possible responses to a late night, drunken, magic assisted call to an ex-girlfriend, this was perhaps what he expected least. 

He laughed, more out of shock than anything else. “Yeah, Zat. It’s me. I didn’t think this thing would still work.”

She shook her head, biting back a smile. “You look ridiculous, Jason. Who let you grow that out? You look like a homeless pirate!” This time, her face broke out into a grin. “Don’t tell me you’ve managed to stay single.”

He shook his head. “There were a few people. One…” Batgirl flashed through his mind, the stolen kisses all over the city, the nights spent together in a secluded safehouse…the way she’d left him. Jason cleared his throat. “And another, but she was some sorta spy, some kinda special agent looking into my Hood work. She dropped off the map after I caught her sneaking around my gear. Some fucking deal that was.”

He looked away from the mirror, taking another drink. “Roy is dead.” He looked back up at her, hoping she already knew. “Died in the second Occupation. All we found was an arm.”

She nodded. “I thought as much. I scryed him several times over the last year, but never found anything more than an empty grave.” She swallowed, hard. “But still, to hear it confirmed…” She shook her head, fighting the tears back. “It sucks, Jason. That’s all I can say.”

A few moments of silence followed this, with neither of them wanting to move on to another subject. Then: 

“What about Dick? He must be closer to a man now. I remember the training you used to put him through. Does he still want to be a hero?”

Jason laughed. “He’s a better man than I could ever have hoped him to be. Still hasn’t hit five foot six though.” He laughed, a rich, deep sound. “Henri and I are about to start putting Human Growth Hormone in his breakfast.” Zatanna laughed at this, and Jason felt a painful twinge at the familiar sound. It reminded him of simpler times, time spent with the sorceress when they were a couple.

He cleared his throat. “What about you? Killing demons? Hunting vampires? Chasing ghosts? It’s been well over a year, Zat. Not a word from you that whole time. I-” He stopped. “Mi sei mancato, piccolo uccello.”

She blushed, and rolled her eyes. “Quit it, Loverboy. And no, I haven’t been killing vampires.” She paused, muttering something that sounded like “Although I’m not sure I’d miss Andrew…Arrogant bastard.” She looked back at Jason. “Besides, there are more dangerous things out there than vampires and ghosts. Malevolent spirits, avatars of rot, undead masses. There’s plenty to keep me and my team busy. Shit, not two months ago we stopped a group of Irish Nationalists from getting their hands on the Ring of Gyges.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, staring at his empty scotch. “Team?” He stood, crossing the room to retrieve a third bottle. He groaned as he sat back down. He could still make out the words on the spines of the bookshelf. He had some work to do.

She shrugged. “Sort of. A few of us have banded together to stop threats that the world can’t handle yet. There’s Dr. Holland, Constantine, Boston Brand, Andrew, Madame Xanadu, and Buddy Baker, the actor.” At Jason’s blank stare, she smiled. “Saving the world, just like you. I never thought I’d be a hero, but what the hell, right?

He snorted. “Something like that. I don’t suppose a warning from me would make you behave any differently?” 

“Not a chance, Hot Shot. I finally get why you’ve been doing this for so long. It feels great.” Laughing, she made a fist, punching her left palm. Jason snorted. He knew the feeling well enough, and couldn’t really blame her for wanting to ride the adrenaline as long as she could. Still, it bothered him that the very thing she’d left him for-his sense of justice, and his unwillingness to abandon it for his own safety, amid other things-was now her driving force. He mentioned this, and she shrugged. “It’s different. I’m protecting the world, not just Gotham City. Our home is fucked, forever and always. The world outside still has a chance. I’m fighting for that chance.” He didn’t respond, and she didn’t speak again. For several minutes, neither spoke.

There, in the silence. The tension, while not unbearable, was more than palpable. Neither of them had felt that before; they had always connected in an almost seamless manner, never having to try to find lost words, or fill the lulls in conversations. They had clicked, and that was it; they were good together. 

Not anymore. Too many months had gone by, and too many experiences had changed them from who they once were. The on-again, off-again relationship she had with Constantine; Roy’s death and the solace Jason had found in Batgirl, the showdown with Bruce. Her learning to rely on others, that she had a support system to watch her back; his time spent alone, as the only Outlaw against a city of evil. 

Roxy interrupted the silence with a contented snuffle as she changed positions, finding a different way to arrange her long legs as she slept. The Newfoundland was huge these days, reaching almost to Dick’s shoulder at the ears. Zatanna smiled. 

"How’s the old girl doing?”

A safe topic. “Still smells like the wrong end of a goat, but that’s to be expected. I take her for runs four times a week, and she eats enough to feed a family of three for a month. Still, I think she misses you. She howled for days after you left.” There it was again. The awkward silence. She cleared her throat.

“Look, Jay, it’s been good talking, but I should go. Duty calls, right?” She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes.  There was a thick tone to her voice, like she was fighting back tears.

“Right.” He didn’t bother to hide the ice in his voice. 

“Don’t use this mirror again unless it’s an emergency, alright? I don’t want to have you pop up in the middle of a battle or something.” A forced laugh. “Shit gets hairy enough without an ex calling long distance while I’m flinging fire at a zombie.”

He was already standing, pulling the mirror close to his face. “Stay safe. I don’t want some warlock to come knocking, telling me a rabid yeti took your head off.” Bitter now, although he wasn’t sure why. He saw the hurt in her eyes, and forced the pang of guilt he felt deeper in his chest. “Goodbye, Zatanna.” It stung, using her full name. Zat flinched. She wasn’t sure she’d ever actually heard Jason address her with her full name before; it sounded wrong, sounded profane. 

“You too, Jaybird.” It was a low blow, she knew; Jaybird had been Roy’s preferred moniker for the black haired man. She had wanted it to hurt, though, wanted it to sting. She got her wish, as a flicker of sadness flashed across the stern, bearded face. A small victory. “I’ll send Dick something from far away. Tell him I said hello.” She muttered something under her breath, and the mirror rippled again, revealing the heavy beard on Jason’s face. He grunted, then swore. 

He hurled his bottle at the wall, sending shards of chartreuse glass in every direction. Roxy awoke with a small woof, eyes darting around the room for the source of the noise. Scowling, Jason plucked the last bottle from behind the bar, sweeping around and out of the room. Roxy watched him leave, deciding to remain where she was. She was asleep again before Jason made it up three stairs.

Arriving in his bedroom, Jason examined himself in a floor length mirror, noting just how long his hair and beard had gotten. Before he could change his mind, he lifted a pair of scissors to his face, snipping neatly through the dense hair. He did the same with his ponytail, afterwards running a long razor through the remaining hair. This resulted in a much shorter, cleaner look, which he then trimmed down to appear even. After shaving, he took a good look at himself again.

The white streak, as ever, sat at the crest of his forehead. Black hair was tousled carelessly, and his short bangs were swept upwards. His face was bare for the first time in over a year. The haircut had helped, oddly enough; it was almost as if his anger with Zatanna had disappeared too, inch by inch. Jason checked his watch. It was almost sunrise. Bottle in hand, he took the stairs to the roof, wandering through the rooftop garden until he reached the Eastern corner. There, he stepped onto the low perimeter wall, leaving nothing but empty space between him and the asphalt, hundreds of feet below him. Kicking a pebble off, he watched it tumble down, down, down, spinning crazily in the morning breeze. As it hit the street, the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon, bathing him in angry reds and soft yellows. He lifted the bottle to his lips, downing nearly a third of its contents before letting his hand drop back to his side. 

In the distance, the Dragon was visible, winging its way through West Chelsea Hill somewhere. With a small smile, he saluted it, knowing Henri wouldn’t catch the gesture. Turning away from the warm light, he hopped off the wall, landing with a crunch on the roof below. He was unsteady on his feet now, and he struggled to make it to the door leading back to his penthouse. With a small degree of difficulty, he made it into his bed, pulling the heavy comforter over his now naked body. He was asleep in seconds.

Up on the rooftop, the half full bottle sat alone on the corner, glowing in the sun’s rays.

note: this takes place on New Year’s Day, 2016