#al gholsen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

audreycritter · 5 years ago

Note

May I respectfully request some al gholsen content during this long and hard winter

You absolutely may, anon.Here is part one, with @tajmah ‘s wonderful art. Here is part two:

A Slow and Steady Dance

chapter 2

jimmy olsen/talia al ghul

tw: blood, OC assassin deaths, violence

***

“James? You said your name was James?”

The exclamation came out with a shower of cheese puff dust.

“My name is James! I panicked, okay?” Jimmy defended helplessly. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Oh my god.” Jon Kent flopped back on the bean bag chair and slapped a hand over his eyes. “James.”

“Listen, pick up that controller and fight me,” Jimmy said, pointing at the abandoned console controller by Jon’s feet. The brawling game was paused.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said, laughing and coughing. Jimmy nudged the tub of cheese puffs away from Jon’s reach. “I think I know why you’re single.”

“Hey!” Jimmy said, kicking at Jon’s socked feet that were floating in the air. “Listen, you twerp, when did you get so mean? Where’s the sweet Jonno who thought I could do no wrong?”

“Middle school,” Jon’s giggle turned into a grumble and an exaggerated sigh. “It makes ya grow up too fast.”

“Cheers to that,” Jimmy said, raising his can of Zesti. He took a long swig and muttered, “I have to get better drinking buddies than ten year old.”

“I’m eleven!” Jon crowed. His feet settled on the carpet again and he licked his fingers off and dried them on his jeans before picking up the controller. “So. Are you gonna go?”

“Go where?” Jimmy asked, mashing a series of buttons.

“Uncle Jimmy,” Jon said flatly. “I saw the paper in your bag when you told me to get the pop and candy.”

“You’re a little spy,” Jimmy said. He paused the game to tap the back of Jon’s head with his elbow. “You’re as bad as your mom and dad.”

Jon ducked from the teasing blow, laughing.

Jimmy sighed. “It depends on a couple things, like if your mom gets back in time. And even if she does I’m not sure, because you’re practically still in diapers and don’t need to know.”

“So yes, but I gotta pretend I’m dumb if anyone asks,” Jon said. He unpaused the game. His onscreen character flipped Jimmy’s off a floating platform in a blur of blue and orange.

“No,” Jimmy said, with a chuckle. “It means you don’t know. Remember when I used to win sometimes?”

“You mean when I used to take it easy on you?” Jon looked sideways with a sharkish grin.

They played a few more rounds that Jimmy soundly lost, even if he would have argued it was because his head was someplace else. They were in the middle of a match Jimmy was winning because Jon’s fingers kept slipping on the controller when the sound of a key in the lock jerked both their spines upright.

“Your mom,” Jimmy hissed. “Bed like you’ve been there for an hour, go, go, go.”

A whoosh of air sent the cheese puff tub wildly spinning and Jimmy slapped a hand on it to get it to stop just as Lois tossed her stuff on the entry table and rounded the corner. Jon was nowhere in sight.

“It’s a school night, Jimmy.” Lois sounded unamused.

“He’s in bed,” Jimmy said, keeping his attention pointedly on the screen while he jumped around. The other character, unmanned, merely bounced in place under a flurry of kicks.

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “You’re just playing two player all alone.”

Jimmy paused and rapidly quit the game, rising to his feet. “No, it’s a CPU, I think the system’s just buggy? It’s been acting weird all night.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate you watching him last minute,” Lois said. She ran a hand through her hair and kicked her shoes off at the edge of the room. “I do. Appreciate it, I mean. You’re a lifesaver. Clark’s got some thing in…”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said quickly. “No problemo. See you at work tomorrow?”

“What’s up with you?” Lois leaned her head back out of the kitchen to fix him with a piercing gaze. “You usually try to stay and talk my ear off for an hour.”

“Nothing!” Jimmy said, grabbing his messenger bag. “I just, I’ve got plans, maybe. Maybe a date.”

“Jimmy. It’s midnight,” Lois said, an eyebrow raised. She disappeared fully into the kitchen, her voice disembodied as she called across the space. “I didn’t make you late, did I?”

“Nah, I’m not late yet,” Jimmy said. He tipped the Zesti Cola back to finish it off and somehow managed to miss his mouth— half of it sloshed onto his button up shirt. He stared glumly at it. “Aw, cheese and crackers.”

“There’s a stain stick in the laundry room,” Lois said.

“How did you…”Jimmy tipped his head back and sighed at the ceiling. “You can’t even see me. Are you sure Clark isn’t rubbing off on you?”

Whatever Lois mumbled under her breath from the kitchen was something he thought he probably didn’t want to hear, especially since it was followed by a snort of laughter.

“It’s fine,” Jimmy said.

“Sorry. I’ve been up too long,” Lois said, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth as she came around the corner. She raised a wine glass to him. “Have fun. Be safe.”

“Thanks,” Jimmy said. The shirt he could work around. He had time. He smiled. “Tell Clark I said hi.”

“Mhmm,” Lois said. “Thanks, again.”

“Anytime,” Jimmy assured her. “He’s a great kid.”

“Jimmy,” Lois said. “Take the stain stick.”

***

Fifty-seven minutes later, Jimmy Olsen knocked on the door to Room 638 on the sixth floor of the Metropolis 3rd Street Hilton. The door was propped open by the flipped security latch. He pushed it, tentatively. It opened on an empty standard double room.

“Hiya?” he called, stepping in.

His sense of danger had perhaps been dulled by years of working with Superman a yell away, because he felt no alarm stepping into the room that very well could have been a trap.

The room was definitely empty. He knocked on the bathroom door, and then pushed it open to a dark interior. Also empty.

Jimmy stood in the middle of the room, rubbed the back of his neck, and let the bottle of wine he’d brought dangle in his grip. He sighed.

“Aw, beans,” he mumbled, feeling stupid.

It had been a joke, certainly. Getting someone to prop open the door was the easy work of twenty bucks or so. He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged at his bowtie and crisp collar of the clean shirt he’d put on, then fell back onto the smooth duvet.

“You, Jimmy Olsen,” he said to the ceiling, “are a chump.”

The bedside phone rang. It rang again, and again.

Jimmy propped himself on one elbow and stared at it. It rang a fourth time and he snatched it off the receiver and held it to his ear, the coiled cord that still survived in hotel rooms stretching out across the floor.

“Hilton, room 638,” he said.

“Mr. Olsen,” the accented voice said calmly over the line. “You came.”

Jimmy sat straight up, his back rigid. He swallowed, hard, with a cough of nervous laughter. “Yep. On time, even. Are you, um, running late?”

If the wall had been close enough to bang his head against, he might have considered doing just that. He wished he could sound smart for a whole two minutes while talking to a gorgeous woman.

“No,” she said, unruffled. “Come upstairs. Room 4201.”

The line went dead. Jimmy held the phone until the disconnected tone jarred him into motion– he set it down with a plastic click, and stood, feeling dazed.

The ride up on the elevator was a long, silent minute where he smiled at the other occupants, a man in a tuxedo and a woman in a red gown with a fur shawl. The man glared at him in return, but the woman looked disinterested and avoided eye contact. They stepped off a floor before his.

“Have a good night!” he called after them. They ignored him and he shrugged, jamming the button for the 42nd floor again for good measure.

The elevator doors opened on a hallway with geometric-patterned carpet in stark black and white. The doors were further from each other than on the lower floors, but he didn’t have to walk far to the left to find 4201.

He took a deep breath, raised a hand to knock, and froze.

There was a crash from within the room, the crack of breaking furniture, and shattering glass, a scream. His worry about a date fled, and he pounded his fist on the door.

“Hello? Are you okay? Talia?”

There was a muffled snap and then the knob turned. Jimmy stepped back, unsure of who or what was opening the door. The gap that appeared was only a few inches, and Talia’s face was visible, but her head was ducked down.

“Mr. Olsen,” she said, still calm as a lake in fair weather. “It’s a bad time, after all. Perhaps another evening?”

“What?” Jimmy exclaimed, bracing a hand on the door before she could shut it. “Who was screaming? Are you alright?”

“I’m–” Talia began, her head still bent.

“You’re bleeding,” Jimmy said, staring at the dark bead of blood on her cheek. “Who hurt you? I have a friend who can help, just tell me who did this. Is he still in there?”

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Olsen,” Talia said. Rather than icy, she sounded amused. “I doubt there is anything you could do that I haven’t already taken care of alone.”

There was an unspoken implication there, about Jimmy’s ability to hold his own in a fight. He heard it and ignored it– it was a familiar dismissal, one he’d lived with most of his life.

“At least let me make sure you’re okay,” Jimmy said.

“You’re worried. You needn’t be. The threat has been dealt with.”

“Okay,” Jimmy said, fingers tightening on the neck of the wine bottle anyway. “You’re still bleeding. I can get some ice, find a first aid kit.”

“You are persistent,” Talia observed. The door had never opened more than those few inches, but she raised her chin and studied him. There was a cut by her eye, already swelling.

“Tell me to buzz off, and I’ll get lost,” Jimmy said, hoping she wouldn’t. Whoever had been in the room had done a number on her, and he didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone. “But I’d feel like a heel not staying to help, if you need anything. Gee, that looks bad. Gimme your ice bucket. I’ll run to the machine and bring it back. I don’t even have to come in. Want me to call the police?”

“No,” Talia said. “Wait.”

The door closed, and Jimmy waited, frowning at the glossy silver numbers on the polished wood. There was the clink of a sliding chain and then the door swung all the way open.

“There’s ice in the fridge,” she said, with a dip of her head in that direction. She was walking ahead of him, her back to him, and still in the green dress from earlier. “I’m going to change.”

The hotel suite was large. Plush carpet ran the full length of a long living room, lined with floor to ceiling windows on one side. The view overlooked the glittering, neon city– the Daily Planet with its spinning globe lit by bright white, the glowing blue strips up the corners of the LexCorp building, the dark reflective glass of the First Federal Bank tower lit up like a laser show.

Jimmy stood staring at Metropolis, taking it in, before starting and turning to find the kitchenette. Some of the sleek living room furniture was tipped over, a coffee table broken into a thousand shards in the carpet. A couch was slashed, cotton batting sticking through.

“Holy moly,” he breathed, picking his way around the mess.

The kitchen wasn’t a kitchenette– it was a full kitchen, with a stove and oven and refrigerator. There was a marble-top island, a few drawers pulled out and one broken off it’s tracks.

One of the open drawers held a little box of plastic baggies. He set the wine on the counter and plucked a baggie out from the roll, and went around the island to open the fridge.

There was a body on the floor, a knife sticking out from its throat. A mask obscured the face, and any horrified or pained expression he might have been making.

“Talia?” Jimmy called, feeling sick.

“Yes, Mr. Olsen?”

“It’s Jimmy, actually, you should just call me…Jimmy,” Jimmy said, swallowing hard. He couldn’t take his eyes off the knife, the pooling blood, the stained handle. “There’s a body in here.”

“Yes,” she called back. “It’s nothing to worry about. They’re dead.”

“I…okay. Dead. Dead isn’t the worst.” Jimmy tore his gaze away and pressed the bag against the ice dispenser in the fridge. He sealed it, mechanically, and stepped over the body, trying very hard not to think.

He wandered toward the door Talia had disappeared behind. It wasn’t closed, but he rapped gently with his knuckles anyway.

“Ice delivery,” he said, the words sounding hollow to his own ears.

There was a sniff and he leaned forward, quickly, just to see Talia wipe the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand, the first joint of her first finger. She took in a sharp breath and turned fully to face him, with a placid expression. Her makeup was a little smudged.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the ice.

“Are you…are you okay?” Jimmy stammered. “It’s just, there’s a body in the kitchen, and uh…did he attack you?”

“Just the one?” Talia asked, raising an eyebrow. She paused by him, and put a hand on his cheek. “You’re upset. You aren’t used to blood?”

“Uh, no,” Jimmy said, shaking his head. “I’ve, well, I’ve been Lois Lane’s photographer for a while. It’s not the blood so much as what comes with the blood.”

“What is that?” Talia asked, brow creasing.

“Suffering,” Jimmy said bluntly. If she hadn’t touched him, maybe he wouldn’t have dared, but he raised his hand and rubbed his thumb along the skin near the cut on her face. “Blood usually means suffering.”

Talia smiled, thin and uncertain, and raised the ice pack to the swelling cut. She slipped past him into the messy living room. Jimmy turned, to watch her, and didn’t notice the feet twitching behind the second low couch until she stopped behind it, standing over someone.

She hissed something low, crouched down out of sight. A rough voice, thick and gurgling, murmured something in return and then there was a wet snick. Talia rose, with blood splatter on her face.

“We have to go,” she said.

Jimmy turned and threw up in a decorative vase.

When he righted, she was looking at him.

“You should go,” she amended.

“No, I’m okay,” Jimmy said. “Just needed a second, is all. Gee whiz, did you just kill that guy?”

“He knew the price for failure,” Talia said evenly. “It was a death with honor.”

“Failure to do what?” Jimmy gaped at her. He stumbled a step sideways, tracking her movement across the room, and reached for a camera that wasn’t there. He just wanted to hold the familiar straps in his hands.

“To kill me,” Talia said, as if this were perfectly reasonable.

“Who’s trying time kill you?” Jimmy demanded. “Why?”

“It was a test. I thought my father trusted me enough that we were beyond such tests, but that was foolish on my part. The lesson has been learned.”

“Your father,” Jimmy exhaled, sitting down on the torn couch. “Your father sent…assassins…to kill you…”

“Yes,” Talia said. “And now I must leave. If you would like to avoid trouble, I advise you do the same.”

“Won’t the police…aren’t there prints? Everywhere?” Jimmy asked, looking around. Talia was standing in front of a mirror in the living room, wiping blood off her face.

“No,” Talia said. “My father’s people will be watching the ones he sent. They will come to clean everything, and if we’re still here, one might try again in hopes of securing his favor.”

“I don’t know what kind of father you’ve got,” Jimmy said. “Mine didn’t like me that much, but he didn’t want me dead.”

“Mr. Olsen,” Talia said, with a pitying smirk. “It isn’t because he wants me dead. It’s because he wants me to be the best. I am, or I’m not. It’s that simple. If I can’t handle a few assassins, then I don’t honor him by being alive. These men would not have thanked me for sparing them– Reznyek pled for an honorable death, and nothing more.”

Jimmy thought she sounded like she fully believed this, but it also sounded recited, like some sort of long-rehearsed creed. He decided not to bring it up in conversation at the moment.

“Did you give him one?” Jimmy asked, his stomach rolling again, hearing the snick once more in memory. He convinced it to calm down.

“Yes,” she said softly, not looking at him. “He failed, and he didn’t deserve it. But I gave it to him anyway.”

“Why?” Jimmy asked. He didn’t know why he was asking, anymore than he knew why picking up a camera filled him with joy, or why following Lois around while she dug answers out of stories was one of the most satisfying things in his life.

“My father may not be right about all things,” Talia said. She flicked the cloth she’d been using onto the remains of the coffee table.

Jimmy got to his feet, and squared his shoulders.

“Well. Have you eaten since the gala? Can I buy you dinner?”

“You want to buy me dinner,” Talia said, raising an eyebrow. Jimmy got the impression she was looking at him with real interest for the first time. “I will not be having sex with you, Mr. Olsen.”

“It’s Jimmy,” Jimmy said, blushing. “And I’m not asking for…that. Just some burgers, or whatever you want. You’ve had a rough night.”

“You don’t want to run screaming?” she asked, with a teasing glint. He trailed her into the kitchen, where she found a first aid kit. She rummaged through it while he spoke.

“My life is pretty weird,” Jimmy said. “I’ll give it a few more hours.”

“I will accept dinner, on one condition,” Talia said, spreading cream on the cut near her eye.

“Sure, name it,” Jimmy said quickly, taking a bandaid and ripping it open. He handed it to her.

Talia pressed it into place and then looked him full in the face. “When you regret this in the morning, you tell no one.”

“Easy,” Jimmy said, while he was screaming inside and as certain as the sky was blue. “I won’t regret it.”

#jimmy olsen #talia al ghul #rarepair ship #shitpost becomes realpost #listen it was a crack ship and i accidentally got invested #let jimmy grow up #dick grayson got to #al gholsen

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