Dysfunctional people like her shouldn’t get involved with relationships.

Emily thought she had convinced herself to stay away from romance ever since her last breakup. It wasn’t messy for her, but it was catastrophic for the boy who decided to take a bet on her positive development. ( He left with a broken heart while she ran away with her bruised ego. At least she didn’t slander him like she did her previous ex. That improvement should be given credit, no matter how little, right? )

Ever since she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., such matters held lesser importance to her. She barely had private time, anyways, not when she is busy making the most out of their assigned Quinjet and incredibly generous funds – “Is it really necessary to pick the most expensive dress you can find on the catalogue–” “Listen, Talbot. You want me to go undercover and I’m not going in with a half-ass outfit.” – and, of course, doing what is RIGHT.

Jason Todd, however, has made that topic relevant again.

Emily swore she was never falling for jerks again, and that is the problem – Jason Todd is both yes and no regarding that statement. For many, it is a contradicting claim. You simply cannot be and not be an asshole at the same time. And yet, after many missions together and post-events, along with the sparring and workout sessions, Emily is convinced that this perfect mix of a person DOES exist.

Underneath a layer of reckless disobedience, Jason Todd’s core shines brightly with a promise of never-changing honesty. Maybe this is why he appears aggravating to some and blindingly charming for others. His truth is a fiery heart and those who cannot handle his white hot flames get burnt. 

Often, she finds herself wondering if they would work. How can she tell if this is something concrete, something real, something that will last and blossom and stand against whatever quakes that may come? ( Ironically, she had no problem reassuring Bellamy on Brett’s intentions, and definitely no trouble in telling what has been going on between the two. )

Jason is good at hand-to-hand combat, though he does take preference in theatrical firearms whenever possible. “You STILL favour your right a bit too much, chica,” is what he tells her as his arm bars across her shoulders and grip stern on her left fist, her right arm held against her lower back. He is right. She can feel the tremors building in her tired wrist. “I’m just distracted,” she replies with a roll of eyes, obviously an excuse, to which he snorts.

She has to close her eyes just to contain the butterflies inside when his voice is so dangerously low, so dangerously close. Against her better judgement, she then breathes out and relaxes in his hold, leaning her head against his shoulder and even smirks.

Feels like placing her bet on a table that may not even exist.

“...Emily,” Jason calls her name instead of using her nickname and it shakes her whole being, something she cannot blame physical exertion for. Whatever is to come next, she will never get over the way he addresses her with such subtle care. Like she is delicate but not fragile.

So she tips her head up, glances at him with a spark of anticipation in her dark brown eyes. He looks at her, deep blues hesitating between catching her gaze and taking note of her lip bite, and he heaves a sigh so heavy that his chest rises and falls against her back.

“I think at some point you and I should probably make out with each other.”

It is a habit of hers, fed and encouraged by her profession, to read into subtle cues in someone’s tone. His voice is genuine and sincere, his touch on her wrists softening, and the quiet way he delivers the suggestion speaks of so much respect and caution instead of a random flirt.

At some point, huh?

Her mouth falls open, blinking a few times just to let it sink in. She wants it to be right now, to melt into his warmth right here, to take his lips and taste this potential, to KNOW how it feels to be HIS– Just before her impulse could take action, their wristwatches beep. A signal for a meeting and a new mission.

There is a moment of silence between them, a quiet mourning of what might have happened in a better moment. She steps away from his hold and turns around, a teasing finger brushing up his chest as she speaks.

“Come back alive, then we’ll see.”

Don’t get attached.

Despite the constant reminder at herself, Emily still failed. She wakes up to a series of nonsensical texts. Sleep is persistent in her eyes, but she wills her fingers to work. She tells Jason yes, she can be his reference for whatever ridiculous job he finds.

About ten minutes later, just when she is all groomed, hair pulled back in a small messy bun, her phone vibrates on the kitchen counter. Jason informs her it is already done. Asks if she wants to have coffee together.

Emily glances at her coffee pot. She weighs her options for a second.

[sent: cargo s.] i’m already making mine[sent: cargo s.] you can still get some if you come over fast enough

It doesn’t take long for her doorbell to ring. She is well prepared with toast and cofffee, and Jason Todd greets her with a wide grin. She realises she is, somehow, using his button up as a jacket. He seems to notice, too, but that suspension sways and floats away at their synchronised “hey”.

When she sets the table, she imagines them hugging. Natural and instinctive, right by the door. Or slightly awkward, with a little hesitation, his arms slipping around her waist from behind, enveloping her in his warmth. No matter how vivid her fantasies are, she doesn’t see them happening.

They chat casually over breakfast. For more than once, Emily finds herself zoning out while staring at him, and she has to chide herself for hoping. Having Jason around feels nice. Yet, the more used to his presence, the more scared she is of losing him.

Everyone leaves, sooner of later. She doesn’t see why Jason Todd will be an exception.

“A lot on your mind, Chica?”

Jason calls her by that nickname, and butterflies wake up in her stomach, but they are not the only ones throwing a fit. She looks at Jason, and she doesn’t see herself being the lucky one. She sees them drifting apart, mostly him turning away first, with someone else by his side. Jason Todd doesn’t know how much he means to her, to people around him. Jason Todd doesn’t know what he can get, the happiness, the love, if only he is ready to accept them.

She cannot squash the phantoms of fear, but she doesn’t have to acknowledge them either.

Sometimes it hurts, but she tells herself it doesn’t matter. Experience has taught her to be prepared when the inevitable comes, so every single day she remains alert, waiting for the day Jason shines his smile at the mention of another name. Waits for the day everything settles, and she will walk away with her head held high.

They will still be friends. They will still be friends.

Alas, Emily Watts is known for her ultimate self-destructive tendency. When one simple thing goes wrong, she tells herself the only way out is to lose everything all at once and start over. Leave Gotham. Find a new life. Forget about everything they shared on rooftops and luminous city lights.

One evening, the third day in a row she has to work overtime to make sure the next issue gets sent for printing on time without flaw, Jason sends her a text. Or, more accurately, Jason sends her a text meant for someone else.

[received: cargo s.] what if they don’t like me back?[received: cargo s.] sorry wrong message[received: cargo s.] you eaten yet?

She read every popup notification on her phone, but she doesn’t reply. She reaches for her cup and finds it empty. So she excuses herself from the desk and spends ten whole minutes in the pantry just to make some instant coffee. She dunks more than enough sugar in it, telling her it will help her stay awake later during patrol.

She replies about an hour later, telling Jason she is going to be late, and he can start patrolling without her if he must. She doesn’t address the accidental message at all. She doesn’t know how.

She can’t tell why she is so affected. She is irritated, and she begins finding every excuse possible to avoid being alone with Jason. Ridiculous, isn’t it? Trying so hard to avoid seeing the one person she wants to see the most.

It isn’t fair to Jason and she knows. This is Emily Watts, difficult and selfish, always looking after herself before caring about others. This is why nobody can tolerate her, isn’t it? She just has to ruin it.

She manages to avoid him for one whole week, and she feels awful. They still text, on and off, and she always has the convenient excuse called work when she procrastinates her response. They patrol on their own, and Emily begins to question herself. It is her own decision to stay away, but she also cannot fight how much she misses him. Why can’t she make up her mind and stick it till the end? Why can’t she let him go?

Somewhere in Gotham a crossfire breaks out. She stands there on the roof, wondering if it is Red Hood there. It has to be him, right? The bats never favoured his ways. What if Jason thinks she hates him? What if he thinks she is just like the others, somehow another betrayal?

When she gets there, Red Hood has everything settled. By settled she means people are down, and justice is restored. He seems to be surprised to see her, but he is quick to mask the moment with a witty, “You’re late to the show.” He ducks his head, and her heart aches. She disappointed him, didn’t she? She promised not to let him down, but she did. “…Wanna hang?” She asks, words struggling to sound cheerful and cover up her guilt.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

They find a rooftop with a spectacular view of Gotham’s night life. Some lights never go out it seems. The city never sleeps. With his helmet off, Jason sits by the edge and stares into the distance. Emily looks at him, and she wonders if the seat by his side is still hers to take. How much longer will it be hers? How much longer until someone else shows up? Someone better, someone kinder, someone smarter, someone–

She walks over and sits next to him, leaning forward with a small smile on her face. I’m sorry, she thinks, but her mouth says something else. “A lot on your mind, Todd?”

Jason glances at her, his eyes suddenly raw and vulnerable, as though she has asked a forbidden question, that she has set foot on land extremely off limits. Then, he huffs a laugh, half bitter and half tired. “You can say that, chica.” And he turns away.

The night is indifferent to their feelings, so quietly dark and blue. Hands curling into fists, Emily finds herself hating this silence. Not knowing what to say, she reaches for his helmet, and he lets her take it. Her nails are painted crimson, a shade darker than Jason’s red, and they match nicely when she traces fingertips over the contours of that mask.

She feels a small dent underneath her index finger, a scratch along the side, and she realises how it will crush her if Jason ever gets hurt, or gets–

“I’ve been really busy,” she cuts off her paranoia with her favourite excuse lately, her words rushed and self-conscious. “I’m sorry I’ve been so… hard to reach.” She hears Jason take a deep breath. She hears him slowly let out a long sigh. She hears a small crack in the air between them, and she realises she isn’t prepared to lose this at this stage.

So she decides she has to embrace it, if it is going to happen anyways.

“You got any luck with that person? You know? That… person.”

She knows what it means if Jason finds someone. That means no more staying over and taking his bed. No more grabbing his shirts in the morning and beating him to the bathroom. No more smirking when colleagues ask if the scruffy man by the front door is her boyfriend, no more taking his arm as though it is her birthright, no more quiet pride over being the special one–

Some years younger, she would’ve caused so much drama over this heartbreak. She would’ve made sure he ended up hating her, blocking her number and all across social media. She would’ve ruined everything, scorched the land until every inch is barren. But she is older now, and thankfully, too old to be that immature.

Maybe she isn’t the special one, but she can still be one of the special people in his life.

When she turns to Jason, he is staring at her, a kind of sadness in his eyes, like she just ripped his heart into tiny irretrievable pieces. “Emily,” his eyes are so dark and blue, and she recognises the same shade on Gotham’s starless sky. She doesn’t dare look away. She doesn’t want to run away from the truth anymore.

Jason blinks, shaking his head slightly, disbelief climbing up his brows, casting a shadow over his face. “That person… that person, oh fuck… that person is YOU, Em. It’s you.” He pulls away his eyes before she could process those words, that unexpected answer that she has dreamt of hearing, the reveal she desperately yearned for.

Now she hears it but she can hardly believe it. What do you mean? Confusion crawls all over her, painfully obvious on her face, eyes wide and mouth agape. Her fingers are digging into the hard metal of Jason’s mask, her whole existence tense, like she is the string of a bow.

Jason looks so tortured, and suddenly, the past week felt even the more obnoxious. “Jason…” Right when words will be helpful, she is speechless. But she can’t leave him hanging. She won’t.

Slowly, her hand clasps over his bicep. He meets her eyes, such a tender gaze with hidden fear. Like she is going to reject him. Like he is prepared to lose this gamble, to have nothing while wanting all. Holding his gaze, Emily slides her hand down, pass his forearm, his wrist, and finally slipping fingers in between his.

Oh, how perfectly their hands fit together.

“I am deeply, ridiculously in love with you.” Jason admits with a crack in his voice, his eyes, and his whole being. Emily has never saw him like this, so small and helpless, so raw and exposed. “Jason,” just saying his name makes her eyes water. She purses her lips, scooting closer until their arms press against each other. She doesn’t know how this is possible, but this is happening.

“I thought you found somebody,” with her hold tight on both his eyes and his hand, she admits quietly, a shudder of guilt rushing up her spine, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t–I didn’t think it would be me. I–” 

Then she stops herself. She can ramble later, but it is not fair for her not to say it back, when Jason has bared his soul for her to see.

“…I never thought I was capable of love, but I love you, Jason Todd.” Her cheeks heat up, and emotions overwhelm her to the verge of tears, but she doesn’t stop. “You mean so much to me, you don’t even know.” Leaning her head against his shoulder, her hair falls down and curtains her face.

They are nowhere near heroes.

Some days, Emily considers herself a sweeper. Trash sweeper, Dirt cleaner. Garbage disposer. Doing whatever she feels like when she comes across a criminal or one of those self-absorbed villains. Setting some rules on the night streets when Gotham succumbs to the darkness.

Gotham is bound to fall. She is not saving it. She is just giving the people a little more time to breathe until they find their way out of this oversized bear trap. What about yourself? She asks with clenched fists. She stepped into this city with the most shallow goal – a good paycheck in her favourite industry – and now she is knee deep in this pit.

From petty theft to organised crime, she soon switched her stiletto heels to the more practical boots. Looking good doesn’t help on rooftops.

Emily Watts, fighting crime? The thought makes her laugh, let alone anyone else who knows her. Sitting by the edge of a skyscraper, Emily turns to her partner, the infamous, problematic Red Hood, and she wonders how many tranquil moments did Jason ever had. “Is there something on my face?” He asks without turning his gaze away from the city lights. Of course he knows when someone is staring. Being in Gotham, you’ll learn to pick up the slightest glance as a survival instinct.

A long queue of vehicles is stuck in several narrow roads due to a minor accident at the junction. Every car is honking bloody murder, and that seems to be the only aggression tonight.

She doesn’t look away immediately. Her gaze is determined and unwavering, half out of defiance and half out of curiosity. So she hums, long and theatrical, before lifting a brow. “Thought you had a new freckle on your cheek. Turns out it’s just a sesame from dinner. Keeping it for midnight snacking, Todd?”

Jason looks at her and she immediately turns away. The honking is getting louder and louder, and some impatient drivers are getting out of their cars just to see what is going on.

“We should go see Hamilton together,” she says, peering from the corner of her eye just to catch Jason rubbing off that non-existent sesame. She stops kicking her legs and crosses them close to her body instead. “Heard good things about it. You allowed to take day offs, hm?”

She didn’t want to make friends with him at first, for having any sort of attachment only opens her up for more potential heartache later. Still, she is human, and she is vulnerable. Craving for a genuine connection, she finds herself incredibly dependent of the other, at least on the emotional side.

“Huh——” Intentionally dragging out his response, he stretches both arms up high. his leather jacket lifted over his waist. Emily doesn’t know what she is expecting. Maybe something other than chasing after people and shooting them down. Maybe something simple, like what everyone else does when they have spare time.

“Too late.” And yet she denies him the right to answer, getting up just to make it clear the offer has sadly expired. “You gotta train your reflexes. Some opportunities only come to you once.” Standing on the edge, she closes her eyes, arms wide open like she is ready to dive.

She hears Jason getting up too, and now he is towering over her again. “You should learn to be more patient, chica.” With all the city lights drowning out the stars, Jason’s profile looks almost solemn, as though it had been some decades ever since he last smiled. Her arms drop to her sides, then she tosses an unimpressed look at him.

“Me? Patient? Come on.” She is about to follow up with several other options she has in mind – for example, a casual walk to the kebab place before they head home – when chaos makes its introduction.

An explosion sets off panic in the heavily jammed streets, leaving pedestrians, drivers and passengers running like headless chickens. “…Who is it this time?” She almost sounds annoyed, like this is merely another inconvenience on a particularly long day. In fact, she sounds annoyed all the time, and if people paid attention, they will pick up the inevitable care and concern beneath her abrasive words.

Jason sighs. “It’s time to be an everyday hero.” He hops off the ledge and grabs his helmet, then offering her a hand. Emily glaces at the hand offered, then lifting her eyes back up. “Do you do this to everyone? To prove your charms?”

Waking up in the middle of the night is a part of her routine now.

It starts with heavy sweat. With fingertips cold as ice, she scratches along her arms and leaves tracks of red, skin slowly swelling under her persistent clawing. Then she jolts awake, kicking hard, as though she had tripped and was about to fall.

She couldn’t be left on her own. She couldn’t handle herself right now. Despite the weeks trying to settle back into this life, she doesn’t recognise the pasty walls of Jason’s bedroom. ( She falls asleep calmly in his bed. Best when he sits by her side and talks to her. Best when she knows he is there. )

It takes her a few moments to realise she is breathing. Her chest feels tight, like something is crushing her from above. The blanket, she quickly decides, is the perpetrator. ( Like a veil of mist, she wasn’t able to rid the suffocating feeling that enveloped her. Heavy liquid swallowed her, and she was powerless against its cruelty. )

She doesn’t take the door. Jason left the window open for the sake of ventilation, and there is now way he could’ve known beforehand. With her small frame and lighter than before weight, she climbs out the apartment and almost loses footing – rusty pipes, strangely gross feeling underneath her feet – but she curls her toes and holds on.

Gotham. She is back in Gotham.

She loathes bullies.

In the course of fighting against them, she might have became one. As far as she is concerned, that is the only way of making a statement: You cannot bully me.

The hunter is not any different. Whatever misleading upbringing the man had suffered is irrelevant to her. Her will to survive burns in her eyes, and it almost brings tears. Tears, warm but in no ways a weakness, regardless of how often they are mistaken to be a fissure in her character.

Another week of hide-and-seek, and it all comes to an end when he manages to trick her into yet another dead end. ( She blames the lumberjacks. She blames the people who cut down trees and disfigures the woods. She blames her own pride to taunt and fight back. She blames her own arrogance that might as well had dug her own grave. )

Gunpowder haunts her, a graze of bullet leaving her arm bleeding. Blood magic, a voice suggests, and for a second, she is tempted. Her life is seeping out of her veins and sinking deep into the earth, the trees around her slowly waking up to her presence, but they are not protecting her with their thick sun blocking canopy.

If anything, they are bystanders. They will cover up his murder and keep her silent.

“You can try,” she hisses, fists clenched and she takes another step back. Confrontation is best avoided. Run, run, run. “But you don’t know what I’m capable of. I can burn this whole forest down with me if I so wish, and whatever petty bullet of blade you have for me will not stop a fire that is ignited but the need to restore justice.”

Impressive it is, how she is backed into a corner and physically pulling back, and yet her words bare fangs.

“Your empty threats won’t hurt me, but they might cost a village. A whole town, if I so wish. Do not test me.”

Something about her blackmail must have offended the hunter. The tall man squints, and his jaw clenches, a deep hatred etched onto his skin, almost as though he was made with that element alone. “It will stop your breath, how cruel I can be.” She shudders as his shotgun is raised by a slight angle of aggression, aiming at her.

Brushing her fingertips together, early Spring curses her with humidity. Her soles sink into the dirt underneath, a rather tempting inviting to simply surrender to six feet under. There is not enough time for her to create a spark, let a alone setting a damn forest alight.

things you said when i was crying

Good news: They are out of Gotham.

Another good news: Emily stopped running. She stopped believing in whatever bad fortune she has, and she stopped ignoring the obvious than ever looks they give each other. It took them a lot of time to come where they are, but after everything that happened, they deserve this peace.

Jason is such a tough one, even though silly. He is silly in a lot of ways, and Emily knows all of those ways very well. He is also a tall man, about two whole feet taller than Emily, and that is perhaps why it is funny when he bends his upper body to rest his head on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” She asks with the gentlest voice she has, their Great Dane nuzzling at her elbow as she tries to pull her boyfriend in her arms. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shaking his head while wiping tears against her shoulder.

All she did was get out of class and bought them fresh butter croissants. Once she stepped inside the flower shop, Jason looked up at her, and then he started leaking from his eyes.

She rubs his back, feeling the small tremors that come from her big boyfriend, and suddenly she understands why he is overwhelmed. “You silly thing,” she says, turning her head to kiss his cheek, “This is real. If you’re gonna cry about it everyday, you’ll run out of tears when we get to the wedding.”