𝙾𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙻𝙴

" like what? " exhaled with an elbow-lean against front bumper; the project of the week an old, blue thunderbird he'd been dying to find the time to dissect. even better in good company; he'd made a spot just for her right beside the lift, currently descended with wheels on the floor. " don't tell me you actually like hearing about all'a this junk. " playful, more than anything as the back of gloved hand wiped at leftover grease, only smudging it over his skin even further. well, a for effort.

❝ all . . nerdy. ❞ her cheek rests against her hand, a smirk dancing from one corner of her lip to another. barbara looks up at johnny through thick lashes, a teasing spark in her eye. ❝ it's hot. ❞ and she means it. she's enjoyed watching him work. spending time together as if they're just a normal couple. no impending doom or world destruction hanging over them. simply laughter exchanged between smiling lips. it's nice. really nice, actually.

from the side she grabs a rag, pushing herself closer to johnny so she can wipe at the grease that decorates his skin. her touch is simple, a few gentle strokes of the cloth is all that's needed. the now mostly grease free, but still slightly stained, skin rewarded with a light kiss. with the rag discarded she turns to the motor itself. barbara had always been more of a bike person then a car person, but she knows a thing or two. curiosity is peaked as she peers over the bonnet, hands griping the bumper to allow for muscled arms to lift her torso slightly out of her chair. ❝ fly? ❞ a single word that tears her gaze back to him. suddenly she's hit with a pang of overwhelming affection for the man standing beside her. ❝ i think if anyone could get it to fly, it's definitely you. what's your plan? ❞

however, what came next was certainly not penelope's forte: and she becomes quick to follow oracle's recommendation of sitting ... and waiting for her to do her own aspect of the job at hand. only then, when she has practically flung her body onto the armchair, does she finally peel the mask of anarchy from her face — a sigh, as warm cheeks are soothed by cool air (and she can finally take a breath in without inhaling the smell of leather and metal). she even lets her eyes fall shut for a moment, trying to squeeze the exhaustion out of them, before being alerted of the usb's encryption. of course it was encrypted ... it was never going to be that easy ...

intriguing. while her system works on decrypting the usb, attention turns elsewhere. momentarily the only sound that fills the clocktower is the tapping of her keys. in a flash all sites are scanned for any mention of scarecrow or trouble at arkham. nothing, but the lack of reporting in the news doesn't mean that such a thing hasn't happened. focus turns to the gcpd database and arkham's own data. scarecrow's profiles on both systems displayed on side by side screens. both rely the same information. date of incarceration, list of known crimes and charges, and current location. supposedly still in his cell. a light hm passes from her lips. a quick check of the cctv confirms it. scarecrow is still in his cell.

and she's stumped.

oracle checks all known foes. joker, ivy, mr freeze, and beyond - all exactly where they're supposed to be. ❝ it could be someone new. ❞ perhaps that's the problem with gotham. if you lock away those who terrorise her streets, someone else will always step up to take their place. she thought she had gotten good at anticipating such events. her databases filled with all known associates, and their associates, and so on. all with alerts out for their names and faces. if they so much as speed through a red light, oracle knows about it. she'd heard nothing of this.

❝ do you think you could draw the symbol? ❞ from her drawer she pulls an almost full notepad, flicking to an empty page towards the back, and a pen, which is swiftly handed to penelope. it might not help, but it could also be the thing to unlock what they need. the only identifier they have to work with right now. ❝ do you remember anything else? did it smell of anything? ❞ @cityburning

❝ c'mon, gotham isn't that bad. ❞ sure, it's dirty and smelly, but so are most cities. they have their blights, but they have their corners of beauty too. ❝ we can't all live up to midvale's standards. ❞ her shoulder bumps against linda's, a teasing air to her words. she really does look like a fish out of water against the backdrop of the towering city. it's streets a maze to those unfamiliar. ❝ maybe i can change your mind. ❞ she hails a cab, muttering a location to the driver, who sets off in the direct of old gotham. a small park, a miniature oasis, sits amongst the gothic buildings. directly across from the library she spends most of her time in. ❝ my favourite place in the city. ❞

shame is a compulsion he has yet to defeat. despite being blameless for his death, guilt overrides those feelings entirely. he doesn't know who he is anymore, and he hasn't known since blood had coated his teeth at fourteen. everything has been red for so long & at this point the stains have become mold. it's evident jason hasn't come to terms with the trauma, merely swallowed it down until it sat doormat in the pit of his belly, swelled & coated with tsunamic waves of penitence he has since consumed. ( a memory of acidic knighthood, back when he pointed guns at their shared mentor, & later the early days of nighttime vigilantism of which caused damage to innocents in the process of doing "good" )⸻an intolerable mental state jumbled in between being hero & villain, all thanks to him.

he hasn't yet asked her how she dealt with her version of mental injury. never asked how many nights she spent waking in cold sweats, jolting upwards with her throat ripped raw from screaming in her sleep, alone in her room, confused on what to do next. has never made the connection that their shared perpetrator was a shadowy beast hiding in the blind spots of their vision. so why now, when appointed with the opportunity, can't he just ... speak .ᐣ why won't his leg stop shaking uncontrollably .ᐣ why does he feel tears swell in the corners of his eyes .ᐣ but instead of letting them fall he insists on swallowing them down, using the back of his wrist as a makeshift tissue that, in the grand scheme of things, doesn't do much to assist him. his cheeks still wet & sobs still descend from his lips.

he hated moments like this most of all. the memories never announced themselves & the overwrought feeling in his body never gave him warning, a time to excuse himself, or make amends. one second he was in their safe space, a boy watching winter take hold of their city, & the next he was falling apart, convinced they were followed, or perhaps he was years back in the past trapped inside a nightmare his body refused to forget. small again, naive, beaten. yet barbara's touch was as gentle as a sibling's would be, jason assumed it was his lack of saying anything that ticked her off, instead of how weird he had become in such a short amount of time. he inhales, shaky & deep, lowering his gaze from the warmth of nearby lamps & the pensive ticking of the clock he was focused on prior.        ❛❛        it fucking sucks, barbara.       ❜❜ he's able to admit in a mild sob, & at his point he doesn't contain the swears teetering on the tip of his tongue. he feels too scrambled to watch his mouth, or be anything other than who he has become in his forced adulthood. she doesn't give him much time to wallow in his pity.

... ⸻

one action had led to another, & jason could feel his body moving without him realizing it. he follows as lost as a mistreated pup looking for some sort of guidance by a kind hand. his in hers, a foot in front of the other until they were outside. the winter chill hit him hard. heat had bloomed in various places but the cold forced him to stay present. he found his footing, was able to regain air in his lungs one painful inhale at a time. hazel eyes watched her take a handful of snow and form it, he's slow to catch on, the seconds tick past, but he gains the confidence & his innocence rather quickly. he eyes the snow in his hands, thinks about his next step, & then it's thrown. careful of his strength & precision, it falls just below her left shoulder. he takes a few steps to the side, lips barely upturning into a smile of sorts. he knows the game, has played this before in their youth. he should hide if he knew what was best for him.        ❛❛        you won't win this. i'm faster now.       ❜❜ 

she wants to hug him. to hold him, tell him it will all be okay and she's there, and never let go. but she doesn't. barbara watches as jason works through his thoughts. catches sight of emotions as they flicker across his features. it hurts her to think of how much he had suffered. not only in death, but in returning from it too. how long had passed before they even knew he was back, and what had happened to him in that time. she never pushed. never begged for the answers that curiosity longs for. partly for his own sake, partly for hers too. it was hard enough to live with herself knowing that he was next while she laid helplessly in the hospital. that she couldn't have been there, even if she had known what was to happen. how could she live with the knowledge of all the rest?

a memory forces it's way to the front of her mind. his funeral, attended by only a few. the first time out on her wheelchair, in black clothes her father had delivered to the hospital. they'd allowed her a day away from the ward, a break from her various therapies, to say goodbye to her brother. barbara had been so angry. at the word, but at bruce too. he could have stopped this. he could have ended joker when he had the chance, before anyone else got hurt. but he didn't, and jason was gone. of course she understands now. her thoughts aren't so clouded by anger. she'd been angry for so long.

the thud of snow against her jacket wakes her from the memory. no longer is she in a grassy graveyard, but an alleyway beside her home. one decorated in glittering snow. flakes lodged into the hair of the boy - man - gearing up to throw another snowball her way. a laugh falls from her lips, gloved hands moulding powder into a weapon. ❝ oh yeah? ❞ an eyebrow raises. she'll take his challenge. ❝ you know, just because i'm in this chair doesn't mean i can't kick your ass. ❞ the snowball is set free from her hand, landing snack bang in the middle of his chest. a triumphant 'aha!' breaking across the silence of the night sky. swiftly followed by an 'oh no' as another ball of snow flies towards her. she tries to dodge, but isn't quite quite quick enough.

they continue like this for some time. snowballs flying back and worth. her body chilled and sore by the end, but it was fun. a youthful energy seems to have settled within her bones. one from the agony of all that had befallen them both. but their trauma is quickly remembered, as she catches her breath amongst the mounds of snow. she looks to jason again, feeling something squeeze at her heart. ❝ you know, if you ever want to talk . . i'm here. ❞

sherlock holmes; albeit well-seasoned in skill, observational prowess, a stranger to the exposure either the success or otherwise his cases brought. learning the cause and effect of his own curiosity, from involving everyday people on the street to those who lived high upon hills appeared to be tricky. miss gordon was right; his awareness of any purposeful intrusion or possible sabotage could do with a little more fine tuning. it wasn’t rare with those under the prying microscope, sometimes people even ended up hurt. or worse. but ah, paranoia wouldn’t help him now. such a hard lesson to come to terms with.

" and they will get their answers. as will you. " he promised with a nod, granting her his gaze, though clearly distracted. their surroundings felt just as obvious. the table to their right, a family who were no doubt fearful of the state of it all. behind barbara sat a gentleman who owned a factory just down the road, his business threatened by untied ends. " perhaps a public venue is not the appropriate place for this discussion. if you would like, we may resume once our cups are empty. " he could use a mind like hers, brilliant from what he’d been able to witness thus far. quickly, better he change the subject to sooth any listening ears. " much like myself, you do appear to be working rather hard. " he promoted with a gentle wave of the hand, quietly dissecting her features, each and every expression that crossed the planes of her face. " how are you faring? "

barbara hasn't always been known for her patience. she has a thirst for knowledge, for answers, that has lead her to trouble more than once. as a librarian she's supposed to be calm and collected. as the daughter of a police detective, a public figure, she's supposed to rise above. she's not so good at either. gaze bores into sherlock's. searching his features of answers that neither have. or, perhaps, that he's not yet willing to give. it's been 10 days, 15 hours, and 25 minutes since her father disappeared. since she tried, and failed, to solve this mystery on her own. since the name of the man opposite her was recommended by a co-worker of her father's. if anyone can solve this, it's this guy. it's been 4 days, 15 days, and 25 minutes.

❝ i've taken a leave of absence from the library. ❞ that is to say, they've allowed her some time to deal with her personal affairs. she takes a sip from her cup. the tea is still warm, almost scolding the roof of her mouth. frustration bubbles inside. she wants nothing more than to down the liquid and make haste to somewhere they can talk freely. but she cannot make a scene. she cannot end up in the papers next to her father's and sherlock's names. ❝ there's nothing else of note. ❞ which is to say, she's dedicated all her time to the search and come up with nothing. there's a silence that hangs over their table, broken only by the whispers of those around them. her gaze is locked on the brown liquid in her cup, feeling suddenly and horrendously vulnerable. worlds away from the woman who had greeted sherlock at the table. ❝ that is to say, things have been . . hard recently. ❞

she likes this guy, she decides, as their backs press against each other. he's pretty funny, good in a fight, and knows what she has to say is worth a damn. maybe she'll keep him around. ❝ oh, you're so on. ❞ the smile on her lips can only be described as wicked. betraying just how much she's enjoying the fight. despite the muscled goons who circle the duo. the smug look on their faces tell her that they think they've got the upper hand. they don't notice the previously thrown batarang steadily making it's way back towards the group. ❝ sorry fellas, ❞ her words are directed towards the henchmen to her right. ❝ i'm the competitive type. ❞

all hell breaks loose as her batarang meets its target for the second time, taking down at least two of the men as batgirl springs into action. one by one, sometimes two by two, the men fall. each attempt to fight back is met with counteraction. fists and feet meeting their targets with expertise. it's almost too easy. a thought that doesn't truly occur to her until the last one hits the floor. the roof now littered with unconscious bodies. ❝ i think i won - ❞ a sentence interrupted by a loud explosion behind them. it causes her to stumble forward, strands of red hair and the material of her cape flying forward from the force. when she turns she sees the building they'd been surveying now on fire. red flame licking at the brickwork as black smoke flows from broken windows. ❝ they were a distraction. ❞ she mutters. shit. ❝ they knew we were on to them. ❞

he's never considered a cross-species liaison of this magnitude. sure, he's wondered after humankind and their interest in turians; maybe he's researched a bit, pulled up a vid or two in his spare time (but who hasn't?). this feels different than a panel in fornax, however — this isn't as surface-level as those encounters, and those displays of... physical affection... don't go into detail about friendships and alliances. they don't come close to what he has with @ioracle. so what should he do differently here? as he walks through the battery doors, he watches barbara study the room before her. he sees her curiosity; he witnesses her fascination with the thanix cannons, the complex tech he uses... or that's all a ploy, and her true interest lies in the turian she talks to. whatever the case may be, garrus has to think smartly here. for her sake, as well as for his.

she can't fault him for being honest. their situation is a unique one. a human and a turian. there isn't much precedent for such a match. at least, not that she could see from her research. with different biologies, different ways of displaying tenderness, it seems like it should be impossible. yet, there they sit with that current of want sparking between them. unlike anything she's felt before. barbara is no stranger to romance. to flirting and flings and the touch of another. it's not prideful to admit she was considered a catch in her officer days. that she delighted in a lustful gaze and teasing remark. it rarely ever went further. there was only one other she truly cared for, a man she nearly married, but it was never going to last the test of time. not when time had so many plans for them both.

muscled arms lift her body from her chair, expertly maneuvering to sit beside garrus on the bench. ❝ the last thing you could make me feel is uncomfortable. ❞ she promises, hand reaching out to cover his. ❝ i know this is . . different. for both of us. it's okay not to have all the answers. we'll figure it out together. ❞ the very air around them seems to have shifted. no longer an atmosphere of teasing, but a more gentler, tender one. where the physicality of their feelings doesn't matter as much as the emotional connection. the tether that connects her heart to his. maybe that's what makes it so special - the improbability of it all. finding a deep belonging where it was least expected. ❝ just pretend, for a moment, that i was turian . . what would you do next? ❞