BimArts

All in all, not a place where people like Logan, with nameplates next to their doors, often frequented a stop at. Yet here he was, leaning over the side of your desk, jacket thrown over his shoulder and briefcase in hand, ready to head out despite still having a half hour of the workday left. Behind him, you could see a few others of the department milling about, talking and laughing freely as your heart sped up. It was normal for the established workers to grab drinks every Friday, joining other departments to catch up and toss the worries of the work week aside in preparation for the weekend. Despite being here the longest of any of your fellow newbies, you had yet to be moved to a desk that wasn’t communal. In fact, others who had started months after you had been moved to a cushier desk, yet here you remained, doing mindless floor plan work and modeling appliance layouts in Revit.

Had they finally recognized you could do more? After countless coffee runs and demonstrations of the newer programs that the office seniors refused to learn more than the basics of? Finally, you could do more of the work you hoped for! A chance to get an in with well known names of the industry. At least in this area of the industry.

“Not at all sir!”

The reply, looking back, was too fast, too eager, and the way Logan had smiled should have let you known the answer was a mistake. You could thank college for that conditioning, breaking down whatever spine you had through years of unpaid internships, begging for any scraps of work experience you could get, a race to the bottom to see who was willing to do the most for the least reward. Granted, it also gave you some immaculate references, and if architecture didn’t work out, being a personal assistant was always in the cards with how adept at running errands you had become. 

“Dependable even in high-stress situations that require much time and effort.”

“Maintains an extraordinary level of precision with work.”

“Always ready to complete assignments no matter how much work is involved.”

All glowing reviews given by previous employers telling of your…eagerness, for approval.

“See? What did I tell you?” He called back over his shoulder, where the others were gathered, now watching the exchange. Their gazes held a range of amusement and annoyance, some with a familiar pity. No doubt they remembered themselves in a familiar situation not too long ago. 

“Doesn’t have a life, this one.”

His hand roughly clasped your shoulder. A round of laughter rose from the others, bringing heat to your cheeks as Logan turned back, still chuckling as he placed a flash drive on the desk.

“We need to have the energy analysis for the check in on Monday. I would do it, but the models always take so long to load into COVE, and it's already late in the day and the rest of us have plans. You should be able to do it though, right? Since you’re not busy?”

Looking at the flash drive on your desk, the brilliant red casing is enough of a warning of the mess that laid within its memories. In and out, each breath helped to maintain the restraint to hold back from grabbing the small device and shoving it down the smiling prick's throat, telling him where he could get his energy analysis. It was insulting, pushing off work on a project that wasn’t even yours, but there was no way you could say no without invoking the ire of the higher-ups, especially after so eagerly admitting to your own lack of plans. So instead, you gently grabbed the device, plugging it into one of the many ports of the computer, the monitor chiming as it connected, a small light flashing to life from within.

“Of course. I’ll have them done tonight.” You did your best to maintain a cheery tone, hoping your eyes conveyed the hatred you felt for the man in front of you, who only smiled back.

“Thanks. You’re always so helpful,” the way he said it made your skin crawl. It was truly a skill to make what should have been a compliment sound like such an insult, yet he did so with ease. “I knew you were just the person for the job.”

With that he turned on his heel, heading towards the elevators with his group in tow. All you could do was watch as the doors closed behind them, leaving you with a new model that needed tending on your desktop, trying to ignore the pitying eyes of the others in the area as you got back to work, typing away with a bit more force than necessary.

The model, it turned out, was a mess. Just as expected. Windows went unrecognized, leading to inaccurate readings across the board, and when you finally got them to register, the energy readouts were far too high, leading to a fun time of looking at what they could be replaced with that allowed you to still stay on budget while also lowering energy consumption. Logan had a habit of using three pane glass, uncaring of its cost and knowing someone would find an alternative one way or another if the budget appeals for more funds were denied. Effective yes, but costly.

Now, long after the others had left and the sun had set, spending hours hunched over your desk, you had finally gotten the proper readings. Or at least what a majority of the supervisors and department head would find acceptable. You were just thankful that there wasn’t any need to change the renderings. Trez, the intern responsible for a majority of the graphic work on a number of projects, would have your head for making her work over the weakened. Not that you would blame her. The only reason you didn’t stop hours ago and come back later was the desire to stay away from the building as long as possible, especially if it meant having to wake up and take the bus on a Weekend morning. Besides, it was best practice to stay in on the weekends, as the crime rate jumped when there were more potential victims on the streets, finally free of their corporate overseers to only be robbed by a much less white collar criminal that stole more than their happiness.

Quickly saving the file, you sat back with a sigh, reaching high above your head in search of relief for your aching back. The warm light of the desk lamp cast shows along the wall, swimming as you stand with your mug, long ago emptied of its bitter content, making the trek to the break room to wash and return it to the cabinet with the others. Pins stung every inch of skin with each step, blood finally flowing after hours of sitting, making the shadow cast from the lights of the surrounding buildings look ghoulish as it limped along with you.

As the water heated, you allowed your eyes to wander over the shelves above the sink, lined with mugs of varying color and style. There were the typical ones with the Wayne Enterprise logos branded on them, the need to advertise even within their own tower too strong with the marketing department, but a collection had been brought in by one person or another courtesy of the city's latest recycling bug that a few coworkers had caught. Most had obnoxious patterns and gimmicky puns, but a few weeks ago someone from finance had cleared out their cabinets after their kid left for college, leading to your current amusement.

Growing up, they had been a big superhero fan, the pictures on your coworker’s desk boasting them in a multitude of costumes. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was they seemed particularly invested in the Gotham heroes who had a flare for dramatics. Batman and his multitude of Robins that were allowed to run amuck in the city, and the mugs currently stocked in the break room spoke to that. 

Of course you had been annoyed when they first began showing up, and while you would never admit it, there had been a few that had been ‘knocked’ off your desk, ending with their final resting place in the trash. But for every one that was tossed, two more popped up. It was like an infestation. One you had surrendered to once the number of hero mugs began outnumbering all the others. Now you were forced to look at their bright colors and tacky jokes, praying every day when you got in that the simple black mug you hid in the very back would be there.

Heading back to your square of isolation, your eyes deftly move to scan the buildings across the way, skyline nearly even with the floor level. Every sliver of movement drew your attention, darting, always on alert for one of the eccentric characters that populated the city. It wouldn’t be the first, nor last, time your building was threatened. Quarterly training seminars had made the experiences a bit less daunting then the first few times it happened, and were now verging more on annoying with each time they interrupted your projects or cut your hours.

Of course, this wouldn’t be an issue if you had chosen anywhere but Gotham to start working after graduation. The application had been submitted without much thought of actually having a chance, the initial interview you viewed as practice for future ones. Better ones. But then you passed to the second round. Then the third. Finally you found yourself with a job offer, one that your mother had begged you not to take for peace of her own mind. At first you hadn’t intended on accepting. Only someone absolutely insane would voluntarily move to such a place when there were other options. But the more you read the employment contract, the more tempting it became. Not only was there a nice sign-on bonus, but their student loan forgiveness section was what really sealed the deal. Six years of work and they would ensure all loans or remaining balances were paid off. Almost made you wish you had gone to a better architecture program knowing you could have it repaid like that, and if you had any plans to move to Gotham you would have. 

But you didn’t. 

Nobody moved to Gotham unless they had a few screws knocked loose or it was a last resort, and unfortunately you fit into the later category. Months of hearing nothing back and interviews that lead to nowhere, or with empty promises of a follow up. Then your sister heard from a friend of a friend through the academy about Wayne Enterprise hiring in their architecture department, some recent attacks leaving them short staffed and unable to fill the spots. So of course you had applied. And after three interviews and numerous background checks that had them knowing about every detention in high school, a fine for jaywalking, even calling the school counselor you went to during your third year when exams were getting to you to make sure it hadn’t turned you to a life of mad science villainy, you finally got the job.

Now, a year and a half later, you were cursing every moment you spent here, counting down the seconds until you could transfer. Just 1,643 days left. Until then, you would have to take the hazard pay of dealing with criminals every other week like a proper desk jockey.

‘Should be giving me pay for the heroes too.’ You thought bitterly. While many people liked to praise the caped crusaders who ran about, they caused just as much damage, and any person who lived in Gotham also knew they brought about just as much trouble. Just last week, as you were trying to relax at the library, reading some books from the archived collection that can’t be checked out of the building, Red Robin had come crashing through the window, knocking the shelves down like dominos and leaving you pinned under their weight. Work had only given you two days off before being forced to return or face disciplinary action, a few bruised ribs not being enough to excuse you any longer even with a doctor's note.

‘Injury is a part of life.’ Was the unofficial slogan you had heard mumbled about by your fellow disgruntled and pained workers.

The ache persisted even now, reminding you of the event as the pain meds you had downed earlier wore off, the small bottle you had purchased quickly running empty, sitting mockingly on your desk as you packed your things. A hot water bottle sounded like heaven at this point, and only furthered your urge to get home. The flash of a file folder caught your eye as you turned off the monitor, mentally correcting your earlier thoughts.

Not all were completely awful, you supposed, thinking back to the little knowledge you had. Nightwing was the least offending, and at least he stayed around to try and help clean up the messes he made. He also wasn’t around as much as the others, so it seemed there were less chances for him to make a mess, though hearing through family in Bludhaven, he seemed to do a good job. At least he was more willing to work with the police. The newest Robin to take up the mantle also seemed to have cut back on his damages after an admittedly rough start, though the downtown history museum was still a bit of a sore spot. Try as you might, it was difficult to name any before him, only even knowing that there was even more than one after moving here, but it seemed the rest had their own varying issues.

Of course, then there was the man himself. Batman. Vengeance of the night. Monster in the dark. Whatever the internet had taken to calling him. It was harder to get a read on him, staying out of the spotlight as much as he could, and he paid for his damages, though you had no idea where he got the money. Not to mention the last fight you had seen him in, a gala you had snuck into that the company was hosting, hoping to get some firsthand notes of the historic building, he had seemed to be considerate of the architecture and did his best to reduce the damage. Your slightly more favorable opinion of him might also be due to the fact that he had stopped a stray blade from finding its home in your skull, but there were still some sore feelings over the grappling hook indents left in the ceiling. You would let that slide, for now at least.

Honestly at this point, your portfolio contained more restoration and diagnosis projects than anything else. Any company you worked at would most likely hire you to do the same kind of work if you couldn’t get to a hire level and work on any of the new build projects that were branching out from Gotham central. Either that, or take up a second job for pennies and kiss any free time you had goodbye.

Moving out, you clicked off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness as you carefully picked your way out of the cubicles. The ride down to the lobby was uneventful, waving goodbye to the set of guards at the desk, the older of whom halfheartedly returned the gesture while his protege seemed hyper focused on the monitors in front of him. Blake had only been a recent hire after the last night guard for the lower floors took an early retirement, and while he seemed cheerful enough, it made you question his sanity on how he could work here and still keep his upbeat demeanor even after the last break in.

Outside, clouds had begun to gather, blocking out the light of the moon above and leaving only the light of street lamps and passing cars. The bus station was only a few minutes walk away, leaving you to act less scared than you were. Walking at night was never a good idea, and your hand rested in your bag, ready to pull out the taser you had purchased after first moving here. Not one of the cheap ones offline, but through a family member who worked in law enforcement. One that would at least give a bit more than a few seconds to run. 

Waiting under the lit station, your fingers absentmindedly run over the smooth material, watching every shadow from the corner of your eye. Of course it would be just your luck to miss the last bus by five minutes, the next twenty away. If there wasn’t a fear of missing the next one, you may have headed back to stay in the relative safety of the reception area rather than stay in the company of the posters plastered on every inch of the once transparent box. It seemed as if the universe was doing everything in its power to keep you from your toasty bed as long as possible, the chill of the night only seeped further into your bones as cars passed by.

Screw dinner. Not like you had much beyond some saltines in the cabinets anyways, you muse listening as another truck approaches.

A flash of red moves, sending your heart racing, spinning with taser in hand and ready to fight an overzealous dressed goon, only to let out a huffing laugh at your own nerves. Still, as you put the device back in your bag, you can’t help but fix a glare at the truck, which proudly displayed a Red Hood lookalike, boasting a new energy drink line. It seemed that, like most laws, copyright didn’t exactly make an impact in Gotham. It was insulting really, how a lot of these companies used the likeness of heroes, knowing that they couldn’t do much without risk of outing their identities. Forced to see their image plastered everywhere, yet never seeing a cent of the profits. It almost made you pity them.

But for Red Hood, you could only find delight in his assumed torment.

While the other heroes you could feign indifference and even find some positive aspects towards, you held no such reservations for the helmeted vigilante.

Brute. Menace. Blockhead. Pompous fool. Violent, empty-headed bulldozer. 

Your coworkers had heard you say all these and more about the man as you had to read yet another notification in your email about having to do more reconstruction work on something he had destroyed, the jerk deciding going through a wall was easier than kicking down a door fifteen feet away. Oftentimes there wasn’t even anything to reconstruct, hardly even a wall left standing, and of course you were never put on the teams meant to redesign those that were too far gone. Too many hours had been spent on sites, surveying damage of cracked foundations and taking notes on broken pipelines, taking in every reckless action that had resulted in more damage, all for the sake of catching the bad guy as easily as possible. No need for him to worry about the cleanup after. And then he had the audacity to-

No. Relax. Breath. He took up enough of your time at work, he wasn’t going to occupy your free time, even if it was just standing at a bus stop. It was time to go home and push everything even remotely work or hero related from your mind. Nothing short of the building crashing down on top of you would be able to coax you out, and even then, it might be tempting to just stay under the debris.

‘At least I wouldn’t have to deal with Logan.’

You hum at the thought, allowing yourself to get caught up in the dream while sweeping away a stray piece of hair. Tempting, but then again, apartment hunting was a pain in the ass. Ah well, let’s just hope that nobody decides to get too wild this weekend or the heavens help them, you would turn to a life of crime just to give them a taste of your anger. Staring at the taunting masked image as the truck waited for the light to turn green, you knew who would be on the top of your list for revenge.

___________________________________________

“Fuck. I’ve got to get a better filter for this thing.” Grumbling as he yanked his helmet off, Jason was met with the sweet relief of cool air, if not a bit tainted by the perpetual pollution that clogged the city’s industrial district. Roughly scrubbing at his face in an attempt to rid himself of the tingle in his sinus, it only contributed to the next sneeze that rocked his body, threatening to topple him off the ledge he was precariously perched on. If not that, then the voice that called from behind him nearly finished the job.

“Still skipping out on your allergy pills again?”

“What are you doing here? Thought you had enough of us?” Jason grumbled, standing up and spinning on heel to face his visitor.

Dick only smirked down at him, easily jumping the ten foot distance from above and landing with the grace of a feline. “And here I thought you couldn't get enough of me. Where’s that brotherly love?”

“Please, if I were your brother I would run away from home.”

He scoffed.

“And you don’t now? I seem to recall a few tantrums of yours leaving weeks of radio silence. Drives Barbara up the wall.” Nimbly picking his way over, Jason couldn’t help but raise a brow. He was, of course, no stranger to heights, and had no fear of them, but the way the acrobat spun along the ledge, it seemed as if he was purposely putting himself as close to falling as possible. Even for a previous Robin, he still had the most acrobatic skills of them all.

Brushing away the jab, Jason turned back to surveying the city, relishing in the small break he had allowed himself. Or at least had been enjoying.

“You still didn’t answer the question. Why are you here?”

Things in Gotham were…normal, for the most part. He knew better than to say quite, as no sooner would the words leave his lips than a disaster of some kind would strike. Besides, it was never truly quiet in Gotham, the city itself and the people always fighting to be heard over the other. But with how normal things were, there was no way Bruce had called him in for help, nor was he aware that any of them would be gone long enough to leave a vacancy.

“Have a few things to do with the Gotham PD. We’re supposed to be running a joint operation, and the captain put me in charge of setting things up for when they get here in a few days.” In one fluid movement, he brought himself into a handstand, only to continue to move about as he spoke. “All the boring stuff you know; making sure warrants are in order, no pieces of evidence are missing. Paperwork fluff. Not fun, but a bit less taxing than chasing people around on patrol.”

“You know you don’t have to do all that, right? Can’t just be a normal weirdo in tights. Always have to go above and beyond, get yourself involved with the police.”

“Hey, it’s not like I’m rearing to be a cop, but Bludhaven Police are just as corrupt as Gotham’s, and if there's any chance I can help change it for the better then I’m willing to put in the work.” His eyes light up, mischief peeking behind his words. “And between you and me, I think my night job is much better, even if the pay is crap.”

The answer only makes Jason roll his eyes. He’ll never understand how he deals with all that legal bureaucratic stuff. Too much tape to cross in his opinion. But if it kept him out of his hair, who was he to complain? Since Dick had moved to Bludhaven, the amount of reprimands he received had gone down significantly, and there was one less person he had to worry about looking over his shoulder for.

“I don’t think you’re one to talk about doing the right thing either.” Dick finally righted himself, taking a seat on the rough stone. “I heard something about a self-defense demonstration?”

The lithe of the acrobats' voice only served to annoy him, brows drawing together as he racked his brain. Unless he was purposely poking fun at him, which he would never put past Dick, but where would he even get the-

‘Fuck.’

Dick laughed, watching as Jason’s head snapped back at a nearly painful angle, allowing him to gaze up into the light polluted sky of Gotham and contemplate his life decisions, remembering the promise he had made to Bruce months ago. It was a bit of a rough night, and while he was thankful it wasn’t in uniform, there had still been enough destruction to land him in jail with a decent amount of charges. Jason had hoped Stephany would be willing to keep it on the down-low just this once and help him out, and the entire time they had talked on his one and only call she had given that impression, leaving him to wait out his time in the cramped holding cell. Imagine his surprise when, less than an hour later, he was being led out by a scolding Alfred, to a waiting Bruce who seemed too smug about the situation.

“How’d you manage to get the charges dropped? I didn’t think I left anything in that place standing.”

“The Wayne foundation is very dedicated to the safety of every citizen in Gotham.” Despite his even tone, Jason recognized the light in his eyes for what it was. He found the whole situation rather amusing.

“We are more than willing to make a donation to help that happen.”

Jason scoffed. Of course he bought his way out. No better way to keep up the appearance of an uncaring playboy than buying his friends out of jail. Oh the irony in how the caped crusader hated it when the gangs did the same thing. He wasn’t the one out causing crime, though one could argue that he seemed to cause similar messes.

“You’ll do some community work downtown as well of course.”

Huh. A bit of a light sentence from Bruce, especially considering-

“As well as doing a bit of work at the office.”

And there it was. The real punishment, meant to make him think back on his actions.

Bruce had been trying to get him to come in and do demonstrations for the office safety meetings that every corporation in Gotham seemed to make mandatory. Every time he had managed to wiggle himself out of doing it, though he was quickly running out of excuses, and it seemed this time there would be none. The others had jobs out of the city, were already working in the building, or simply too young to do so and have the adults take them seriously. All apart from Jason, who worked as a trainer at a gym near his house. Enough to cover the basic necessities of his rent and bills. Besides, if he ever really ran out of food, he could always drop by the manor and raid the cabinets, much to the ire of Alfred who would ind things missing when going to prepare dinner.

“You think I can get out of it if I take a tumble?”

Dick hummed, eyes scanning the alley below. His hand perched on his chin, his calculation of the distance almost visible above his head.

“At this height, I think the worst you’ll do is break a leg if you land wrong. Even then, I think the old man would force you there on crutches. I’m sure you could flip those desk jockeys around even without a leg.” A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, mocking. “He seemed pretty insistent when I was talking to him.”

About that Jason had no doubt, but it was more of the question of exactly how injured he had to be in order to have a valid excuse. Then again, he couldn’t really afford to cut hours at the gym, already warned about his tardiness by the manager, as if he wouldn’t be just as tired after staying up all night and running from one end of the city to another.

Heaving himself up, he let out a sigh as he took one last look across the skyline before clicking his helmet back into place, once again forced to breath in the stale air of the filters.

“See you later! Good luck on Monday!”

Ignoring Dick’s cheerful goodbye, Jason resisted the urge to allow gravity to take him down and out of his looming future, instead skillfully picking his way from one building to the next. He still had the weekend to prepare between training sessions, and he was going to spend the entire time sleeping if he had anything to say about it. Office encounters always left him with a headache and bad mood, so no reason to let himself be tired as well.