okay so this spiritual spin-off of all the ways to stay away has been in my drafts for actual years and it just seems impossible for me to finish it (and i'm not good at comedy) so. here's 3800+ words of kyle not connecting any dots:
It all started with a body.
Or lack thereof, lack opening a wound so deep and burning that it was deemed necessary to announce it to a gallery of men and women in latex, spandex and kevlar, with occasional glistening steel; colours blending at the corners of the round table of the Hall of Justice as Flash was vibrating between the guests, tapping friends on the shoulders and bringing beverages.
Once you got to know him, that is.
Kyle, for one, was not quite sure why he was there at all. He rarely kept on with the club nowadays– and the gathering was a narrow one, even if Batman’s most trusted was a group wider than one would expect. The laconic explanation he received was simply that Batman requested his presence. Or rather, Roy sent him an e-mail out of all things, extending the invitation after he ignored the calls throughout the weekend. Not exactly Kyle’s own decision, either, even if he was not keen to take a call from Batman on a Saturday to begin with– he knew the responsibility the job came with. And he was on good terms with Bruce. It was just that his boyfri- the guy he was dat- seeing threw his phone into the washing machine. By accident.
(“That will teach you to take shit out of your pockets before you drop your pants on my floor.” “So dropping the pants is alright as long as I take the phone out?” “I don’t have to do your laundry, Rayner. I was doing you a favour.” “I did not ask for that favour.” Etc.)
The phone was currently in rice.
And Kyle was here, tapping his foot, uncomfortable. He was sitting on one of the plastic chairs to account for heroes not currently on the JL rooster. Nervous energy was flooding the room as they all seemed to ponder on how much longer they would have to endure the tension. The tension that apparently had been building up for the past months, as Gotham vigilantes became more and more elusive, barely showing their faces even within the most tight-knit hero circle.
“Like back then,” someone muttered.
Whatever back then meant.
Kyle was used to people forgetting he was one of the newest recruits to the superpowered (or otherwise abnormal, trained into it or not) community, even with a solid couple of years of experience. If he drilled for every detail, he would never get out of any conversation, so he allowed for understatements to flow by. Jigsaws sometimes fell into places. Sometimes they did not. That did not bother him.
But back then must have been dreadful too given the awkwardness of the current setup.
Ten more minutes passed and Batman, or maybe Bruce Wayne, showed up in front of them and started to speak without any preamble. Kyle, with Roy on one side, and Donna on another, listened to the explanation; to the plead, in silence, idly wondering what kind of grief had to possess a man as private to stand in front of tens of people with such a request.
“We’ve been looking for weeks. I would not request help otherwise.”
The harsh tone was probably supposed to make it sound insulting; to suggest that they were of no use and it was only the necessity that made him share a mission so personal with anyone else.
If Kyle were to guess, it was not plain necessity that motivated the gathering, but Nightwing, who just so happened to step on his mentor’s foot in that exact moment. Not at all discreetly.
“We were not able to estimate how long it’s been missing for. The coffin was replaced. However, we do have a suspect–”
“...our usual contact, not available…”
“The first question that we have,” Nightwing interjected, “is if any of you have an active LoA plug. We can do without, but it will make the search easier.” He said it while carefully avoiding Roy’s eyes.
The others present were not as polite; many faces turned in their direction.
Arsenal merely shook his head.
The moment that came resembled one of these times in elementary school when a teacher asked a question and no one felt like answering. Kyle has never been a nerd, but he did feel strangely guilty as the silence preserved.
“Uh. I might have something,” he said.
This was the first mistake.
“So your very real boyfriend–” Donna said.
“Whenever we ask, it’s like you cannot formulate a single sentence about the guy.”
“Right. Here’s what we know: your assassin boyfriend…”
Kyle, naturally, knew plenty about the guy he was seeing. He knew, for one, that Jay was short for Jason, even though he personally never referred to him as such. He knew that he had a younger brother, who lived with their father, because his parents were divorced—he figured that one himself, but it was an easy one, all of the clues were there, served to him like on a plate. He also knew Jay usually called his mother by her name (Talia), but that was because even though a mommy’s boy, he was a bit of a jerk like that– And last (and in Kyle’s modest opinion, least) he used to murder people. Execution style. And he was very good at it.
Nowadays, Jay might be fond of death threats, but murder itself, Kyle’s not so convinced.
“He’s not an assassin. Not anymore. He’s got clean.” Or at least he was, the last time Kyle asked. “Besides, I’m not sure how much of that was of his own volition,” he added, just in case; maybe too hurriedly.
“You’re saying it as if murder was an addiction.”
They had that conversation once. Not with Donna– It was after an ugly case, one of not many Jay still ever took. “I’m not making a religion out of killing,” Jay said. Kyle wondered why he felt the need to specify it; as if it was a possibility that he entertained. As if killing was a dogma one could commit to one day, as if the first life taken baptised you in some sick, reverse mechanism.
Kyle used to go to church as a kid. He worshipped God. He was also once a god.
None of it taught him what he knew of death; that murder was no baptism when you were the perpetrator; it was one only if you witnessed it.
“Not what I meant. Listen, he’s had a difficult childhood.”
Questionable. Depends on what could count as “difficult.” He did not say that, as they were just entering the apartment building.
“And besides. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Which is why you live together?”
“We don’t. I just… Have a key,” he replied slowly, stepping into the elevator. He pressed the button. Ninth floor.
“At least that’s an extra point for the believers of his existence.”
“Sorry, what? You’ve been seriously doubting that?”
Come to think of it, it should not be surprising. The situationship might have become rather… notorious in their clique. Despite being one of the main reasons for which Kyle has been around, around being Earth-side, as much as he has been, none of them actually met the person behind that development yet. Not for the lack of trying. They were just all so busy, Jay with his degree, and Kyle– Kyle might have been a bit territorial. Sue him.
But this was it. The moment when Donna met his- his Jay.
Kyle unlocked the door, and ushered her in. He took his shoes off and gestured for her to do the same. Lord forbid they brought any dirt in.
“The very real owner of this place gets pissy about this.” He explained. Though he supposed that the actual owner of the place was Jay’s mother, she would probably scold them too.
As they moved to the kitchen, and he proposed a drink, it became evident that they were alone.
The flat was pristine, clean and minimalistic, with the only interruptions of the stylish space being some of Kyle’s more flashy additions - stacks of comics, his own unfinished commissions and some figurines. (“Is there a reason there’s a Hatsune Mika in my living room?” “You know her name’s Miku. And it’s camp, Jay, grow up.”) The place was also completely silent, save for the quiet hum of AC and birds’ call from outside.
The window was wide open.
It was scorching, Californian sun unpitying.
“Huh. He should be back by now.”
“Another point for non-believers,” Donna replied, helping herself to a glass of water.
And for AC to be left on…
“Listen, Kyle— I tease, but it would… It would mean a lot if he helped, you know?”
“Yeah?” He looked back at her.
Her expression turned mild, but there was something else there too. Something they were both intimately familiar with, the thing that made and unmade their relationship.
“I knew that kid,” she said softly. “He was good. Funny. Sensitive. Kind to a fault. And he— He loved his family. Bringing him back— He deserves that much.”
“Don’t you think it’s ridiculous?” Jay asked, chopping the spinach viciously.
“It’s not going to bring the kid back. It’s just a corpse.”
The blade tapped on the board so seamlessly Kyle could not help but admire the knifework. If not for how intimate he was with that skill (the scar on his side might have healed nicely, but that was because Jay was also surprisingly proficient at stitching) he would worry about his fingers.
“So what would they need that body for? Six years, Rayner. Rotting. Active decay. Liquified internal organs–”
“Woah, okay. Is there any reason you’re so well acquainted with that timeline? Wait, did you just make it up?”
Kyle was not sure what ticked Jay off. Just a minute before he was relaxed, humming to an indie song that way playing on the radio. He got back home only a half an hour ago and started on the dinner. Now, he was ranting about decay.
There was a part of Kyle that wanted to start arguing. Jay always had an edge to him and an ability to ignite all kinds of emotional reactions. But the spat would distract them from the curry on the stove which smelt heavenly. And Jay looked cute in the apron, even as he was running his mouth with unprecedented venom.
“My question is–– What do they want to do with it? DIY the Blackest Night?”
Kyle did not ask how he knew about the Blackest Night. Jay knew a lot of things. Perhaps it came with his former profession. Kyle rarely pried.
“I once thought about bringing the dead back,” he said instead, finding his own voice to sound weirdly remote.
Jay stopped stirring. A moment passed. He looked at the spatula like he was considering committing murder with it. That was not out of the question.
“But it’s not that. Come on. You know what I did instead? Visited the grave. It’s just good knowing that they are…there. Resting. Haven’t you ever lost anybody?”
The slam of the lid on the pot rang loudly in the flat.
“You’re right. I’ve never lost anyone– anything, never, in my life.”
“Name’s Jay,” Jay replied, all his dry snark. “Want to speak to Jesus–”
“Go to Church, yeah. No, listen. Sorry. I should not have offered help on your behalf–”
“But there’s no reason to be an asshole about a dead child and a grieving family, huh? If you don’t want to do this, I can tell them…”
“And besides– Oh. Okay.” Kyle paused, not sure what to say now. He should be used to his whatever-they-were sudden emotion switches. They were easy to recognise for what they were—attempts at grasping control and then backtracking into a compromise. And now it was him who felt like an asshole. “But I mean it. Don’t feel pressured? I know– Is it…dangerous?”
Next day, Kyle remembered about his phone—he got distracted the previous evening, with Jay’s mood significantly improved after dinner and a makeout session to make him forget about all the earthly (and intergalactic) matters. Now, for a moment, Kyle thought that rice worked its miracle. He took the smartphone out of the grain-filled bowl left in the kitchen, pressed the side button, and the screen brightened up.
And then, a stark “Hello” appeared.
He turned the phone around, feeling its sleekness, noticing how weightless it felt in his hand.
“Did your mom buy it?” He asked.
“Huh? Do you think I don’t have any money on my own?”
Well, it was not that Jay had any financial troubles—but he worked sparsely and only ever committed to short term odd jobs, other than his volunteering gigs. And the money on his account had to come from somewhere.
Like from his mother, a businesswoman and a former CEO of Lexcorp, now in charge of another, Hong Kong based company.
“Yeah. Tell Talia I said thanks.”
That he would like to do, in spite of Talia always making him a bit nervous. Which was absurd, given how much of personality she shared with her kid—the same quick, smug wit, though Jay certainly lacked her ease, instead emanating charming awkwardness. And it was her kid that used to gut people alive, and not herself. Not that she knew about the tumultuous youth of her eldest. Or at least, nothing suggested she did.
But the problem right now was that even with the new phone, he had no quick way to get in touch with anyone on demand. Of course Talia’s number he could get from Jay, but his old sim card was not to be found (“drowned”), and with no contacts saved otherwise, another concern came forward.
The quickest way to send a message to Batman right now would be to see him in person.
And the tip that he got did not make Kyle excited about this prospect. At all.
“Bermuda triangle.” Jay proclaimed, briefly glancing away from his laptop, but only to check the timer. He always sat in the kitchen when baking, even with the cakes and pastries already inside the oven, as if he needed to keep watch.
“So I’m supposed to go to Batman, look him in the eyes and tell him he can look for his dead kid’s body in the Bermuda Triangle?”
“You don’t need to do anything with this information. This is what I got.”
“The LoA Bermuda base had nothing.” Kyle informed.
He dropped the mission report at the coffee table and sat on the floor, next to the sofa, where Jay was sprawled like a cat.
Jay looked up from his book, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.
“Still good intel, just not for these purposes,” Kyle added. “So if you have any other trails…”
“Uhm. Yeah.” Jay nodded, turning the pages without actually reading. “The LoA Bermuda base…” he mouthed to himself.
Jay snorted. “Great.” He smiled and shook his head, repeating “The LoA Bermuda base” under his breath again.
“God. You’re so weird sometimes.”
“Mhmmm,” Jay hummed, and then leaned in for a quick kiss.
Kyle was not interested in keeping it brief. He slipped fingers into Jay’s hair and let them linger, before he moved away to snatch the book out of his hand.
Fear and trembling was a questionable choice for such a sunny afternoon.
“I can think of better places to study theology,” Kyle said.
“You’re not Ion anymore.” Jay rolled his eyes, evidently predicting where the metaphor was going.
“But baby, I can do the worship.”
“Meee-” Kyle repeated and pulled himself up, to climb on the sofa - or rather on the man lying on it, not keen on allowing for his partner’s embarrassment to ruin the moment. Jay too often reacted to flirting like he was defending his life, and the banter might have been enjoyable, but acting to prevent him from deflecting was even better.
But to his surprise, despite the flush on Jay’s face, his expression was thoughtful, as if he was just struck with an imperative realisation.
“They should check Area 51 next.”
Every time it happened, it was because Kyle was too quick to forget why he preferred not to accompany Jay when he was running errands.
This time, he followed him to the supermarket, thinking it would be but an hour-long affair, but that was not the end of it. Jay was a worldly cook. He had plenty of spices in the cupboards, expensive coffees and teas, some of them brought over by his mother, or gifted by his elusive “friends”. At the corner shop, he talked to the owner in Spanish, though he rarely spoke it with Kyle. At the Chinese market, he conversed in Cantonese, which must have been rustier, because the woman laughed at him once, repeating what he said, and his face got all adorably red, but he continued his efforts nevertheless.
“I’m getting bored,” Kyle complained when they left the florist. The visit was much longer than what he expected, thanks to the lively discussion on potting soil—he deduced the topic only based on the gestures and the final purchase, as it happened entirely in Arabic.
“No one told you to waddle after me like a lost duckling,” Jay snapped. He was on edge again, why– Kyle could not even begin to guess.
“Come on, I’ve been gone for two weeks, and this is the treatment I get?”
All he wanted was to relax after the Area 51 fiasco.
Ra’s buddies must have gotten the tip too, and burned all of the evidence of their involvement, but that did not cut their job short. There were too many formalities with the Lanterns taking the job over from the JL, and with three dozens of victims of kidnapping from all over the galaxy, he didn’t even have time to text Jay about the developments. Not that Jay would mind something like that—their lives could not be more separate.
“So maybe next time check if the Sprouts’ card is in your wallet before taking off to space. Do you know how many points we’ve lost? Hey, are you even listening to me? Do you think I’m made of money?”
You are, Kyle thought privately. It was just he seemed not to realise it was not something to worry about.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m just thinking, those extraterrestrial experiments were really fucked up— And it was a dead end anyway. Unless you’ve got anything else?”
“Sure. The Mariana Trench.”
He came back home late. Jay did not seem to care, already tucked in, not even minding the smell of saltwater, nor the salt on his lips as they kissed. He allowed Kyle to slide in the bed beside him.
“Nothing?” Jay asked finally.
“No, some things– Just not related.” Kyle sighed. “Or, well. Did you know Aquaman has a whole son in another dimension? Not that it is a job for me. I might be a lantern, but multiverse travel– Can you even imagine it.”
There was a stretch of silence.
“Aren’t you tired of it?”
“I don’t know, just being– Having to be– Something. All the time. Nevermind. I don’t know what I’m saying.” The complaint stopped abruptly. Sometimes even the most well spoken got flustered, it seemed.
“Hm,” Kyle grunted approvingly, finding Jay’s hand and squeezing it lightly. It was tiring, being something. All the time.
He closed his eyes, feeling himself drifting off.
A sound of a message notification made him blink, merely minutes later. It was not his own phone.
“My brother,” Jay mumbled.
Right. The kid was maybe ten, if he remembered correctly– Or younger? They did not see each other often, since Jay seemed to not have been in touch with his father at all, and the boy did not visit Talia all that often either. But they did call sometimes, the three of their little family, as Kyle was elsewhere in the flat, working on his comics pages. And Jay’s voice always got gentle then, endearment clear despite the ambience muffled through the wall.
“Divorce is so sad,” Kyle whispered, tumbling to Jay’s side of the bed again and hugging him from behind.
“What?” Jay asked distractedly. From above his arm, Kyle saw him typing in response to a picture of a cat.
For a moment after waking up, Kyle felt like he was still underwater. He took a breath in as if he struggled for air– and then he realised it was not the air that he was missing, but a familiar touch. He glanced at the bedside clock. 3AM.
He stepped into the kitchen. In the darkness, illuminated only by blue light of an open fridge, he could make out the shape of Jay's back; his arms, slightly hunched over; a hand, starkly pale as he was reaching inside.
For a couple of tense seconds, Jay's figure was completely still. And as it was still, Kyle's heart was racing.
“Hey,” he said. The word came out wrong. Mangled, as if he choked on it.
Jay turned around, his hand moving to his hip, like he was expecting to find a holster there. It lingered at the rubber of his sweatpants, and stayed there even as he met Kyle’s gaze.
The clock ticked. It ticked, and it was ticking, and it was clearly one of these occasions. The occasions when they would look at each other and for a moment, they would recognise themselves in the other’s grief; they would realise that they were almost as good as dead to one another; or gone. Missing.
Kyle knew why he felt that way. He knew where the heaviness in his gut came from, the empty pit that was too dangerous to be filled.
But he could not bring himself to explain what kind of spectre casted a shadow on them from his side. And so, he could not request the explanation of the shadows that plagued Jay in return.
But Jay was there, his face maybe oddly soft and too light-toned in the weak gleam of the refrigerator, but still tan and even slightly rosy from sunburn. His hair was tousled in his regular bedhead. Only his eyes were doe-like wide.
Kyle took a couple of long strands in his direction. He reached behind him, into the fridge and moved a container with leftovers to get hold of a water bottle.
Its humming did not quiet down.
Their fingers briefly intertwined in an awkward motion as he handed Jay the bottle. His skin was lukewarm. But not cold.
“This what you looking for?”
“Yeah,” Jay replied, voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” Jay repeated. “Just a moment.” He moved to the window to open it and simply stood there. And he breathed in the way Kyle did upon waking up–as if it could not be taken for granted.
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