#needing each other because of the irreparable impact they’ve had on one another to the point of like. indistinguishable selves

[twojamie-o-clock]

T4T Ben/Polly save me

[novelconcepts]

Prompt: Dani and Jamie first argument. Maybe the first time one of them sleeps on the couch (and doesn't sleep at all)

It’s such a stupid fight, Jamie thinks even as they’re having it. Such a stupid argument, she doesn’t quite know what kicked it off. Months and months on the road with Dani, months and months of learning all the little particulars of her--taste in music, dislike for repetitive tapping sounds, unpredictable sense of humor, awful propensity for replicating in private the accent of whatever state they’ve landed in today--and never once did they argue. Not really. She was beginning to think they never would--that Dani’s peculiar burden, her own peculiar resistance to logic, would keep them both safe from that which befalls all couples.

Silly. Silly to imagine, with the lovesick eyes of that honeymoon stage, and sillier now. The Dani she’d been met with at the start had been alternately strange and sad, hopeful and haunted, but she’d always been new. There’s a certain sweet charm that comes with novelty, making even the most irritating traits shine. Everything can be wiped clean with a kiss, when it’s new, or with wandering hands, or with a well-timed joke.

But months fade into more, and before she knows it, there’s nearly a year behind them. A year of them. A year of Dani’s smile growing stronger, of Dani’s hands shaking less, of her own belief that this is...good. Better than she could have imagined, letting her guard down. Better than anything she’s ever been granted in her life.

And now: 

Now a fight. Stupid. Small. Not like the closest they’ve come before now--Dani rolling her eyes at Jamie’s inability to make a bed, Jamie scoffing over Dani’s oddball methods of sorting laundry--but...stupid, nonetheless. She’d been tired. She’d snipped. Dani, unexpectedly, had snipped back.

And suddenly, they were arguing. Genuinely, for the first time, arguing--about Jamie’s tendency to shut doors, about Dani’s irreparable need to feign a smile. Both of them spotting that urge in the other which is so easily reflected in a mirror: to fix at all costs. To close off paths to darkness. To make it better, even if it means doing it in silence, or doing it alone.

Dani says, “If you’re going to keep walking away in the middle of a conversation--”

Jamie says, “Well, it’s not like you’re talking--”

It’s stupid. It’s silly. It shouldn’t be happening at all. Tired, she thinks. Tired, and it’s been raining for days, and the shop hasn’t been pulling the customers they’d expected this quarter. Dani has been quieter lately, it’s true, though not the way she’d been those first few weeks. Not the quiet of miserable baggage. Not the simple weariness of looking into the jungle for the eyes of a beast. 

Jamie can understand that. Jamie’s gotten good already at searching out those moments, at taking Dani’s hand--or leaving her to her peace--as needed. 

This, the normal of it all. This, she isn’t ready for. She’s never had a normal relationship, exactly; there had been bone shards and broken promises in the last one, and secrets tucked carefully away, and smiles that never met bright eyes. There had been a lot to unpack, to offer up on the altar of her own dignity. But normalcy? The normal edge of a woman’s voice when she’s just too tired to say the right thing? The normal cut of her own words when she’s just too off to play diplomat in response?

It’s new, and it’s weird, and it sits badly in her chest when Dani throws up her hands and says, “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I need a minute.”

She watches her stalk away, down the hall to the bedroom. Dani doesn’t slam the door. It almost makes it harder; if she’d done that, the intention behind the act would be clear, impossible to miss. If she’d done that, Jamie could piece it together: a shut door means keep out, means stay away, means don’t follow. 

The Dani who wakes from shuddering nightmares always wants her close.

The Dani who’d just shaken her head in exasperation? She can’t be sure.

A part of her wonders if this isn’t all her fault--if it’s the mark of a bad day she should have seen coming. She’s better about this, normally. She’s better at all of this. The woman who had just snipped and sliced, whose smile had been bitter-edged, isn’t unrecognizable; she’d known her so well from a year-old mirror. The woman who had threatened violence at every irritation. The woman who had grown thorns to prevent her own puncture wounds. Not a woman she’s ever been with Dani, really, but do these shadow parts of a self ever die? Has she tricked herself--tricked them both--into believing Dani’s love was enough to bury thirty years of habit in the ground?

Dani hasn’t shut the door, but she hasn’t come slinking back out with apology in her voice, either. And maybe that’s as it should be. Maybe that’s right. Hadn’t it been Jamie who had started it? She can’t be sure--there’s a strange fog around the conversation, an adrenaline-pumping, threat-level-high intoxication eating away at the memory already. Anger has a way of banishing good sense, and all detail along with it. Maybe she hadn’t started it, but she sure hadn’t let it die with a single snide remark.

And now, she thinks, sitting on the edge of the couch with a spreading unease, Dani can see. For good, for real, the bits of her she’d managed to hide away for a year. Dani can see the part of her she’d tried so hard to keep leashed since a meltdown in a rose garden.

Dani can see it, and doesn’t Dani carry enough? Isn’t Dani tired enough, without this added burden of someone else’s anger?

It’s not...peaceful. It’s rage. She shakes her head, presses a hand to her mouth, remembering the shiver in Dani’s voice. And maybe this hadn’t been rage, exactly--neither of them yelling, neither throwing things or landing harsh blows--but it hadn’t been peace, either. It leaves a sour taste in her mouth, a tremble in her legs, how little like them the evening has felt.

The door is open, but she can’t hear Dani moving around. Maybe she’s gone to bed. Maybe she’s decided enough is enough for one night. 

All right. It’s one night. What’s one night? There will be others--probably. Never any certainty to a thing like that, but she’s as near to sure as she can be. There will be other nights, and they’ll talk it through, but...not now. Not with Dani having left her here. Not with Dani sitting silent in the other room, probably letting her own anger twist around her like a shroud. 

The couch isn’t so bad. The knit blanket is too light for the spring chill, maybe, and the throw pillow is too small beneath her head, but she’s had worse. Years on a prison cot, for one. In comparison, this couch is paradise. 

A quiet paradise. 

A quiet, miserable paradise.

She exhales, reaching to switch off the lamp. One night. Admittedly, sleeping alone for the first time in a year feels wrong--incredible, how quickly she’s come to rely on the pressure of Dani’s arm around her middle, the soft brush of Dani’s breath against her shoulder--but she had started it. She’s almost certain now. She’d started it, and Dani had rightly left her to think on her mistake. Dani had rightly walked away and left her to mull it all over.

It works. It has always worked. Worked just fine back then, leaving a shadowed greenhouse for a few days to get her head on straight. Maybe Dani’s right about that tendency to shut doors, to lick her wounds in private. Maybe Dani’s right that it’s a habit too ingrown to break.

Probably. 

She’s too aware of everything--the breeze through the cracked window, the hum of the refrigerator, each creak-and-settle of the walls around her--in the dark. Too aware of how small she feels, stretched out beneath a thin blanket, her hands folded awkwardly on her stomach. Too aware of the way Dani had thrown up her hands, headed back down the hall, left her to pace the cage of her own stupid anger alone.

What was she even so upset about? That Dani had...what? Looked at her askance? Shaken her head? Not quite modulated her tone, and come out sounding as though the business taking a bit of a dip is Jamie’s fault? Dani hadn’t meant it like that. She’s sure neither of them had really meant any of it like it had come out--that, sometimes, words and tone get all muddied up and blow holes in things that ought to be strong enough to withstand any attack. Hadn’t they been over it and over it in therapy? That she needs to stop and breathe and calculate the intent, not the impact, of a person’s behavior?

Intent: mild irritation. A bad mood. Offense taken and dealt without really looking.

Impact: Dani in the bedroom. Her on the couch. Sleeping apart for the first time since leaving Bly. 

She closes her eyes. Tries to breathe. Tries to remember what it was like sleeping alone, all those months ago. Tries to remember how naturally it had come, stepping back from the others, going home to her own flat. 

That woman feels even further away than the one who’d used anger as armor. That woman feels too far to reach. 

“What are you doing?”

She jumps. Dani is standing in the hall, backlit by the bedroom light. Her expression is washed out, unreadable. 

“Sleeping,” Jamie says in a voice not quite calm, not quite stable. Dani makes a thin noise.

“On the couch?”

“You--” She sits up, clutching the blanket for support. “You said you needed space.”

“I said...” Dani takes a step nearer, and another. Her brows are drawn, Jamie can see now, her arms wrapped around herself as though for warmth. “I said I needed a minute.”

“Right.” This doesn’t feel like them. This feels even less like them than the argument had--because that, at least, had been petty and dumb. This feels too much like open water, uncharted, unexpectedly deep. “Wanted to respect that.”

“By sleeping on the couch.” Dani has stopped, still hugging herself, just out of reach. Jamie gropes up for the lamp, switching it on without looking. 

“Well...yeah. You said--”

“A minute, Jamie.” Is it her imagination, or is Dani trying not to smile? “You thought a minute meant the whole night?”

She doesn’t answer. Her throat is suddenly tight. Dani is looking at her, not with irritation, not with a fed-up grimace, but with a burgeoning smile. 

“Haven’t you ever had a weird spat with a girlfriend before?” 

Not trusting herself to speak, Jamie shakes her head. Not one like you. Not one carrying too much to manage. Not one I’ve fallen in--

“Well--neither have I, I guess.” Dani is almost grinning now, though there’s something jumpy about her eyes. Something like she’s trying, even now, to hide behind old habits. “That was...that was weird, right?”

“It was,” says Jamie carefully. She’s too off-kilter to read between the lines of Dani’s rictus grin. Too unbalanced to see what Dani is really trying to ask.

“It was weird,” Dani repeats, as if trying to convince herself. “And weird happens. Weird doesn’t mean...weird doesn’t mean we...”

Ah. There it is. She may have lain out here staring at the ceiling, parsing out her own guilt, but Dani was in there doing something worse. Dani was in that bedroom trying to determine how much of that fight was even her--and how much, maybe, belonged to a particularly weighty ghost.

She unfolds from the couch slowly, not sure if Dani is quite ready to be touched. She’s rocking a little, Jamie can see now, back and forth on her heels. Like she’s trying desperately to hold together. Like she’s coming ever-closer to unwinding. 

“Fights happen,” Jamie says. “Dumb ones, more’n most. I’m sorry for starting it.”

“You didn’t,” Dani says. “Did you?”

Her grin is loosening a little, the struts falling out along the way. In a minute, the whole thing is going to come down, and the expression waiting beneath will--Jamie suspects--look an awful lot like a woman freshly haunted. 

“I don’t know,” she says honestly, taking a hesitant step closer. “Does it matter? Sorry either way.”

“Me too,” Dani says, her voice small. “It was a--a bad day.”

“Yeah.” Her fingers are twitching at her sides, itching to reach out. Dani glances from her face to her hand, her smile flickering at last. 

“Can you, um. Can you come to bed anyway? Even if it’s not okay. Even if we’re--”

“We’re okay,” Jamie says, and knows it. Stupid, petty arguments full of bitter, petty words mean so little when stacked up to how Dani makes her feel. Even on bad nights, Dani makes her feel safer than anyone she’s ever known. 

She hopes Dani can say the same. Is determined, if Dani can’t yet, to make sure she leaves that exact legacy on Dani’s life. Safe. Secure. Loved. 

Dani is reaching out, pulling her close, her breath fast and sharp. “Can we make it a rule?” she asks into Jamie’s shoulder, her forehead pressing down hard. 

“What? Never go to bed angry?”

“Never go to bed apart.” With every stroke of Jamie’s hand across her hair, she seems to settle a little more. Seems to breathe a little easier. “You can be angry, I can’t--we can’t always help that. But come to bed anyway. Kiss me goodnight anyway. Can we make that promise?”

She sounds uncertain, and Jamie knows she’s remembering a final conversation with another person she’d loved. A last she hadn’t known was such until it was too late to take back. There hadn’t been room for forgiveness there, or apology, or a goodnight kiss. 

“Promise,” Jamie says, and knows it’s one she’ll keep faithfully to the end. However long they get. However much time. If they fight once a year or once a month, it won’t matter. Never go to bed apart. That’s doable. It’s the least she can do. 

“Does this mean,” Dani asks, voice muffled, “we’re official now?”

“Officially what?”

Dani shrugs one shoulder. She seems unwilling to remove her face from Jamie’s shoulder, to pull free of Jamie’s embrace. “I dunno. Isn’t this what real couples do? Argue?”

“Maybe.” She’s not sure either of them is standing on firm enough ground to say what real couples do, or don’t do, or shouldn’t do. She’s not sure relationships have enough ground rules to be drawn out and catalogued as such. 

What she is sure of is how Dani makes her feel. That she has, over the past months, been stepping closer and closer to a line. That she will, soon enough, tip over it into something that looks an awful lot like always. 

She could say it now. It might soothe Dani, to hear the words for the first time. But it wouldn’t feel quite right. Wouldn’t be quite what Dani deserves. It can wait. 

“I don’t think that part matters,” she says instead. “The arguing. I think the part that counts is what comes after.”

“Where I can’t stand five more minutes without you hugging me?” Dani sounds shaky, embarrassed. Jamie grips her a little tighter.

“That even when you want to throttle me, you still want me in that bed more.”

That, she thinks, is the mark of a relationship. Of their relationship, at least. Not the bickering. Not the silliness or the pettiness. The desire to make it right again as soon as it’s over. 

“Don’t like fighting with you,” Dani says. Jamie gives her a gentle shake. 

“I do hear it improves the sex.”

“I like the sex,” Dani says, almost sullenly, and Jamie laughs. 

“Well then. No reason to change things, is there?”

[justicealwaysprevails]

decisive inaction.

WHO: Bruce @justicealwaysprevails and Jason @thatsjasonfkntodd WHERE: The Manor WHEN: April 30th, 2020 WHAT: Jason is forced to move back to Wayne Manor once Joker makes Red Hood’s identity public.  

Jason: The longer he waited to relocate, the higher the chance that someone was going to start looking for him in the right place. Jason gave himself a day after the puppet show to pack up most of his things, or at least the important ones, and showed up at the manor with two suitcases. Everything else had been put into storage, and he’d already given notice that he was vacating the apartment. Anyone looking for Red Hood there wasn’t going to find a damn thing.

What he hadn’t done ahead of time was tell anyone where he planned on going instead, mostly because he loathed the idea of it entirely. He left the suitcases in the foyer and considered looking for Bruce, but he wasn’t stupid enough to actually believe he didn’t already know he was there. Instead, he spread his arms out to the sides and did a half spin. “Are you going to come welcome me home or pretend I’m not here?” He’d hear him. Bruce: After what happened at the theater, Bruce considered reaching out to Jason and asking that he come to the manor. Jason would turn it down, he was sure of that, so he made a conscious decision not to. He would rather say nothing and not completely eliminate the option. He wasn't ever ignorant when it came to Jason's line of work and the choices he made, although it would seem so by how little he interfered. It wasn't a fight worth having, not right now, and Bruce told himself it was something he could handle any time. Now that his identity was public knowledge, it made everything much trickier.

He saw him arrive. Before Jason even finished speaking he was there, exiting the kitchen just down the hall from where he stood. "Welcome home." The tone was hard to read in being nothing but matter-of-fact and direct. His gaze was more scrutinizing. "We need to talk." Motioning for Jason to follow, he turned to lead the way to the cave. This wasn't something he wanted anyone overhearing. Jason: “I see the detective work is in full swing today.” Obviously they needed to talk. He had plenty of things to say, as he always did when it came to Bruce, and no more reason to hold back. His problems had finally directly and irreparably interfered with Jason’s life.

He followed him down to the Batcave. He’d been there a handful of times recently with Dick and Tim, but it always had a different feel with Bruce. They were stepping into his space, his element, and it always gave Jason a little stab of something. Resentment, maybe. “Are we drawing straws or are you going to go ahead and give me your one sentence review of the situation?” Bruce: The only response to Jason's barbed comments was no response. Bruce learned that a long time ago. It encouraged them otherwise. He'd given up discouraging them a long time ago, but at least the back and forth didn't escalate this way.

"No." He sat down, not bothering to ask Jason to do the same. He would choose to sit or he wouldn't. "I need you to tell me if I'm missing anything." Nodding to the screen, he opened up a file that contained the information on each and every person that had a reason for a grudge. There were many. Jason: Jason did not sit. He didn’t feel like acting comfortable there, because he wasn’t. Not with Bruce. Not with the situation they were in. Not with any of it.

The file as large enough that it took a second to load. Of course it was. “Can I sort this by country or...?” Jason folded his arms and stared up at the screen and for a few seconds he did entertain the notion of going through the whole exhaustive list to see who was on there and who might not be, but he gave it up quickly. “You’re missing plenty. I don’t need you to put my life in a bunch of neat little files so you can think you’ve got it all figured out and taken care of. None of this should be happening. Do you get that? Did you give one single fuck about dragging all of us down with you when you threw your name out? It was just luck that we’ve had this long without all of us getting announced.” Bruce: Instead of responding, Bruce pulled up a simple sorting system that was simple to navigate. He demonstrated twice before moving back so Jason could have access to the screen.

He was expecting this. The others hadn't said anything, not yet, but that didn't mean they weren't thinking the same thing. In the past he'd learned the hard way that some of his responses weren't be acceptable. There was a time when he stopped trying to consider how Jason might receive what he had to say. He never saw results from the effort. Sometimes it seemed to make it worse. Alfred advised him against "giving up", even though that wasn't the way Bruce looked at the situation at all. "You're right, Jason. But it's always been that: luck, and we were running out. Too many people knew my identity before the carnival. Joker certainly knew." He no longer shied away from the name. "I had more control of it this way. My biggest regret is that I did not talk to everyone before it happened." Jason: “No, it hasn’t always been luck. I worked my ass off staying under the radar all these years. I’ve got safehouses in places nobody would think to look. If anybody tracked me, they didn’t track Jason Todd, who got buried ten damn years ago in Gotham City. They tracked Red Hood.” Jason raised his hand, one finger pointed at Bruce, “Here’s a free tip for you, Dad, your control over a situation isn’t the most important thing in the world. It wasn’t your control that should have mattered.”

It didn’t matter how much distance Jason put between himself and Bruce or between himself and the rest of the family. He could never actually get away. Bruce always thought he was owed some kind of say, some kind of consideration, some kind of control, just as he’d said. “I built something for myself, something you didn’t want, and now your ‘biggest regret’ is that you didn’t get to give a heads up before you fucked all of us? What a joke.” Bruce: “It has, because your name is tied to mine. No matter how careful you are, you can't change that." Bruce maintained a quiet, even tone despite Jason's obvious anger. "The most important thing to me was to minimize the impact as much as I could. That required having control over the circumstances. No amount of caution prevents a telepath from reading your mind, or the minds of those who know who you are, and even if you eliminate all loose ends the risk remains. It is naive to believe otherwise."

There were plenty of times when Bruce hadn't said to right thing to Jason or Dick and received a similar response. He knew by now there was no point in trying to anticipate what the expected answer was. Sometimes it could make a difference with Dick, but Jason could find malevolence and surmise meaning when none was meant. "What do you think my biggest regret should be?" Jason: “No, I can’t change that,” the sudden shift to bitterness implied that he’d wished several times that it wasn’t the case. What would have happened to him if he hadn’t tried to boost those tires? He had no idea. Maybe Crime Alley would have eventually killed him, maybe he would’ve met Batman in a whole different capacity later on. He had a lot of what ifs and maybes he’d never have answers to, because it was just as Bruce said...he was all tied up to him instead. The Wayne name was inescapable and Jason didn’t even wear it, really. He was not, had never been, and never would be Jason Wayne. He fixed Bruce with another flat look. “Yeah, that’s me. Naive.”

That question had a fresh wave of irritation bubbling up like he never felt around anyone but Bruce. “Oh, I’ve got a laundry list. You can take a little column A, a little column B, mix and match...” Where should he start? With the obvious? Making it about himself and only himself would be letting Bruce off the hook too easily, though. “But why don’t we start with what you just said. Once you touch something, once you pull someone into your fucking,” he made a vaguely round gesture in the air in front of him, “orbit, you take away any shot they’ve got at any other life. And for what? To be part of your cause? The big legend? I’m sick of going down with this ship, Bruce. I’ve done it too many times, and so has everybody else.” Bruce: Bruce did think that Jason was still naive in some ways, but he didn’t bother explaining or clarifying. He had no doubt of the implication Jason made, nor did he question his sincerity, but it still affected him. That was something that he had accepted wouldn’t fade or change with the passing years. The only thing he could do was minimize interference in Jason’s life while still upholding his personal sense of justice. He’d turned a blind eye more frequently in the recent months.

“I know.” There was no use in denying simple truths. It wouldn’t do either of them any good and Jason would see through it. “If you’re asking if I regret putting you in danger, then yes. I do. If you’re asking if I regret adopting you as my son, then I am unable to give you the answer you're looking for." There didn't seem to be a way to separate the two. He'd kept Dick away from the batcave for some time, but Jason knew him as Batman first. Jason: Jason ran his hand back through his hair and couldn’t help the sharp, humorless laugh that slipped out. “It’s funny when you say shit like that, because from where I’m standing...it was more like I was a pity project and then a sidekick, not a son.” On paper, sure. Sometimes it seemed to dawn on Bruce and he remembered, like he had right then, but all the other parts for them never lined up. He’d wanted a father, in the beginning, but he’d been quick to figure out that he wasn’t going to get one in Bruce Wayne. He was going to get Batman. It was Batman’s opinion of him that mattered, and Batman’s opinion that he could never live up to.

“But I think maybe congratulations are in order, because you’re getting what you want now. Red Hood is down for the count for awhile, and I’m stuck here until I have a better option.” He turned his back on him like he meant to walk away, but all he did was take a couple of steps and keep talking.  “After all this time and all this bullshit, you’re still letting Joker do this to all of us.” Bruce: "You weren't the first orphan I found living on the streets of Gotham, or the last. I didn't pity you." Bruce had plenty of projects and a myriad of ways to help. There were a dozen other routes he could have taken. "And if I only wanted a sidekick, there are much less complicated ways. I wanted you to be my son, or I would have taken you in as a ward." Dick was his ward for several years before Bruce officially adopted him. It wasn't a move he made thoughtlessly.

It always came back to Joker. Bruce had turned away, as if he were looking at the screen, but the very name made his body stiffen. "I had hoped revealing my name would take away that power." He never thought Joker would take the extra step to reveal the identities of everyone around him, even though it was a step realized now he should have anticipated. Jason: I wanted you to be my son. Jason tensed and curled the fingers of one hand hard against his palm. “Could have fooled me.” It wasn’t as if Willis Todd had given him the best gauge for what a father was supposed to be before he’d been killed, but he was still damn sure that Bruce had missed a lot of marks. If he hadn’t seen him pull it together for Tim and Damian, maybe it would’ve been a little easier to stomach, but he knew now that Bruce was capable of it and just...hadn’t.

“You can’t take power away from him!” he snapped. “The only way it’s gone is if he’s dead!” Just because Bruce had changed the stupid fucking game he played with Joker didn’t mean that the clown was ever going to stop playing it. Bruce: It wasn't a sentiment Bruce ever expected Jason to believe. Alfred encouraged him to say it anyway, for reasons he didn't fully understand, but it was advice he'd chosen to take. "You were never afraid to challenge me," he continued, as if he hadn't heard Jason's comment. That was the quality that caught his attention in the first place. It was also what made the role of Robin so difficult for him to handle. Robin was there to support Batman, unquestioningly and obediently, and that never came naturally to Jason.

He knew Jason would never understand why Joker was still alive, why Bruce didn't choose to put an end to him once and for all, and there were times when Bruce would be hard-pressed not to agree with him. "Perhaps," he said simply, quietly. "But it has never been that simple." Jason: "You don't want a challenge. Not this kind. You want a challenge from fucking...Superman, not from me." Because Jason challenged too hard, got too far from what Bruce wanted, and in the opposite direction. If he was actually out of his mind enough to join up with the League, there was no way in hell Bruce would've ever actually listened to him. He was kidding himself if he thought otherwise.

Jason gritted his teeth so hard he felt his jaw ache until he relaxed it. "It is that simple. You just don't want it to be. The only reason Damian isn't dead is because Joker decided to use him for a different kind of message. How many bodies do you need to hold, exactly, before you stop making excuses?" Bruce: Bruce shook his head. "I asked you to join the league for a reason." He didn't know what motivations assigned to it, if any, but it wasn't an invitation he extended without fully intending to see it through - despite knowing what Jason's probable answer would be. "We don't often agree, Jason, but that doesn't mean I'm not listening."

That earned a longer silence. He hadn't anticipated what happened with Damian, but it made him more determined to rein the Joker in before it continued. Frowning, he looked up at Jason with an unreadable expression. "If you and Dick had managed to capture him, what would you have done?" Jason: “You wanna tell me what good listening does if nothing I say ever actually matters? Because all it means to me is that you’re not deaf.” Bruce didn’t bend, and if he did he definitely didn’t bend to or for Jason. He still couldn’t really comprehend why he’d asked him to join the League, but he knew damn well what it would have been like if he’d agreed to do it. It would have been him compromising, him bending, not Bruce, not the rest of them.

Jason turned to face him fully again. “I don’t know what Dick would have done, but I would have put a bullet between his eyes where it belongs.” He’d said it so many times, yet it still wasn’t done. Bruce: "It matters." Bruce couldn't say for certain how much influence Jason would have over the league, not when it came to certain points, but there were other discussions that could yield different outcomes. "You are more similar to them than you think. It is easier to see the differences." Killing was the glaring difference, even though Bruce was well aware of which members were not wholly against it.

It was what he thought Jason would say. He sighed, his gaze shifting back to the computer screens. "And you believe I have never wanted to do the same thing." It was a statement more than a question. "It isn't so simple for either of us." Jason: “Because the differences are what bite me in the ass, and they’re exactly why I’m only here because I don’t know where else to go.” Because Bruce had fucked it all up and left him scrambling again. “You know, sometimes I think maybe I really am an idiot, because I’ve never been able to figure out how you can look at me and spend your precious twenty words a day to just lie.”  Bruce wouldn’t call it that, but how was it not a lie to say things, make claims, and then not follow through on any of it?

“It doesn’t matter if you wanted to do it a thousand times, because you never did!” As soon as Bruce looked away from him, Jason cleared the distance between them so fast it looked like he meant to hit him. All he did was grab his shoulder instead. “Don’t act like I’m not standing right here. You’re going to keep looking at me this time, dammit. This is still happening because you’re letting it happen.” Bruce: "I am not lying to you." It was the only response he could give to cut through the accusation, but it wasn't something he could make Jason believe. At the end of the day, it didn't matter what he said or did - if he couldn't get through to Jason, then it all just fell on deaf ears. Bruce knew better than to give up, but that didn't mean he knew how to navigate the situation any better than before.

He did turn to face Jason, his expression stoic and grim, and he put his hands on his arms. It wasn't to keep him back. The gesture was instinctive, something he would have done with Tim, Dick, or Damian, and there was barely any strength in the grip at all. "I never did, but it wasn't because your life wasn't worth it to me, Jason. That will never be true, no matter how many times you say it, and I will never claim otherwise. That would be the lie." Jason: "Oh, really? So when the time comes and I put my mask back on and go enact justice my way, you're going to let me come right back here and you'll nothing to say because you're cool with it now?" Letting him into the League was condoning it. At the very least, it was complacency. When had Bruce ever actually been complacent? When had he actually let any of them just be themselves?

"If I was worth it then you would have done it, Bruce. I don't care how many times you say otherwise. I don't even care if you actually believe you're telling me the truth." He probably did think that, even. Jason knew how deep his convictions ran. Bruce might very well be utterly convinced that he meant what he was saying, but that conviction didn't change the reality of it - that Joker had killed him, he'd hurt all of them, and he was still out three walking, talking, breathing...

Bruce: Although he would never condone Jason’s methods, Bruce was more than aware that turning a blind eye to his actions in Star City suggested a level of complacency he rarely exhibited. “You and I will always have different ideas of justice, Jason. But perhaps that is what the world needs. There are enough heroes.”

He shook his head, frowning, but his tone remained even. “If I were to kill Joker, he would never die. His blood on my hands guarantees his immortality. There are greater punishments than death. And there are other ways to kill. You have your ways and I have mine. That doesn’t make what I said any less true.” It was a conversation they would never see eye to eye on, but he would continue to have it, as often as necessary, despite an instinctive urge to shut it down. That was a tendency he did his best to curb in recent years. “We have had enough conflict. I want to work with you, not against you.”

Jason: He half wondered if Bruce had been brainwashed. Maybe having his identity out to everyone had forced him to change the way he did things, but Jason wasn’t as naive as Bruce thought, and he wasn’t buying into his act of compromise. He didn’t believe it for a second. If he went along with it, the only thing that would happen was Bruce realizing his “mistake” as soon as he was actually confronted with it. Where would that leave Jason? Even more screwed.

Even if he had been entertaining the idea, the continued belligerence over Joker did away with it. “His blood on my hands guarantees his immortality. That’s the biggest bunch of bullshit I’ve ever heard. His blood on your hands wouldn’t kill and torment your family or terrorize and poison random citizens, would it? Stop trying to be poetic about cowardice.” Bruce: Disagreements like this always ended poorly, especially when  they were with Jason. There was little point in repeating himself when he knew Jason could never understand or be satisfied; it didn't matter if it were the truth or not. Bruce didn't know what Alfred expected to happen from his efforts, but he was confident this was not it.

"It could." The response was immediate, but he didn't intend on offering an explanation. "And it has the potential to do much worse, even now." Moving back, he returned to the computer. He would work on the leads he had with or without Jason's help. "Let me know when you're ready to hear the truth. I refuse to entertain your exhausting inaccuracies on my motivations any longer." Bruce: “Your truth is just that. Your truth.” Jason turned to go, even if he was stuck at the manor on a short term basis. “I’ll be out of here as soon as I’ve got something else set up.” There was nothing else to say, and he didn’t bother to look back again before going back upstairs.

[susannadlpena]

Gonna casually check your privilege and say that Emperor Palpatine was resurrected in the Star Wars EU and it worked fine. But trust me not here to talk trash! Authors should be able to do what they want for the good of their stories and one series I’m heavily involved (I even talk to the author) has a character that some would say is favored most of all by the author, but her purpose within her universe has captivated the audience in such a way that we do not want her to fail. Part 1 of 2 >.>

PART II: psychotic-mouse said:I was just wondering what you’d consider is crossing the line into something that’s destructive for the story’s greater picture? While I love the world in ACOTAR, I can’t help but role my eyes at everything Feyre and Rhysand nowadays. I can’t and won’t say they’re obsolete, ACOWAR raised the roof in terms of possibilities and I’m sick of being stuck with Archeron and friends. Like, there’s a universe where GOD EXISTS! To me, ACOTAR needs TOG’s 3rd person pov or a fresh protagonist. Am I crazy?

Hi there! 

Hoo boy, so this is a lot to talk about (and you’re in luck, because I love talking, yikes, sorry if this ends up being more than you bargained for, friend). First of all, you’re totally right. I totally forgot about the Star Wars EU. My experience with the EU is all the books involving Jacen, Jaina, and Tenel-Ka (who I still actively dislike), so it’s a bit limited, and I was going strictly off the movies. Maybe a better example is like if Suzanne Collins resurrected President Snow, or even President Coin. Poor Katniss. 

So, doing something destructive to the story’s greater picture is different than doing something actively destructive. Since we’re on the subject of SJM, we’ll just use her. SJM killing off not only Nehemia but ALSO Sorscha to further two white protagonists is actively destructive. Was it malicious? I honestly don’t think so. Was it ignorant? Yeah. And though I’m of the personal belief that intent does need to be taken into account when examining things like this, I’m also of the belief that impact is more important than intent. I would’ve side-eyed a bit if it was JUST Nehemia, but Nehemia AND Sorscha? That’s a lack of self-awareness that hurts large groups of people. 

SJM does very well, in my opinion, of staying true to the story and not destroying its greater picture. Ex: There are certain characters she couldn’t have killed without irreparably damaging the main characters. Basically any of the main squad. She had to take other things away from them, (Gavriel from Aedion, Aelin’s powers and the human form she’s used as a crutch/security blanket for years, Connall from Fenrys, Dorian’s humor and easygoing personality etc), because despite the criticisms that nothing was lost because no one important died, if she DID kill someone important, the entire message of the story–hope, happiness even when the odds are impossible–would be less impactful. Veronica Roth with Allegiant? Not so much. Killing the heroine in a somewhat pointless death that you’ve lead your readers to root for and want a happy ending for is maybe not the best narrative choice. 

(For the record, though I don’t personally like it, I’m not against authors killing their main characters, but it’s gotta make sense. I’d be surprised, for example, if Jude survives Queen of Nothing. And, to use a character I love instead of someone I dislike so y’all can’t accuse me of being biased, Sam Cortland dying made sense to the narrative arc. It killed me. I low key still ship him with Aelin. But it made sense and it served the purpose of the narrative WELL. I mean I guess he’s not a main character, but he FEELS LIKE IT TO ME OK. *runs to a corner to cry and mourn … still*)

So, you used the ACOTAR world for illustration, so let’s run with that. A little bit of it is perspective and personal taste, right? I personally could read little tidbits about Feyre and Rhys for the rest of my life, because I love them very much. ACOWAR was meh for me, but I know a lot of people who REALLY HATED it, and a lot of people who REALLY LOVED it. And those things that people who really hated it take issue with tend to be things that the people who really loved it, loved. 

That being said. SJM writing a book about Feyre and Rhysand would destroy the series narrative, just like we were saying. Why? Because their arc is over. They’ve gotten their happily ever after (relatively: I mean, every stage of life brings its own problems, and in fantasy that means WAR). But they’ve grown into themselves as characters, so trying to write another book about THEM means one of two things: Either SJM is going to beat a dead horse and there will be nothing compelling because they won’t grow or struggle enough, OR, she’ll have to pull them back in terms of development to create new problems (which to be fair, happens to people IRL, but it usually isn’t something we want to read in escapist fantasy). 

So, you’re right. The ACOTAR world can only continue if it has a fresh new protagonist, and SJM has pointed to the fact that, there will be THREE fresh new protagonists. Each couple will get its own book, and my guess is she’ll start with Nesta and Cassian, because they have the most explosive problems (notice I didn’t say biggest), and she needs to use them to propel audience interest forward to read the others. If she starts quietly, like with Azriel and Elain (sue me, I’ve been an Elriel shipper since ACOMAF), she won’t hold her audience as well. That would be destructive to the story line a little bit. 

I hope I answered your question? All in all, while I’m ‘eh’ about the plot twist in King of Scars, it isn’t destructive to the storyline. It has the POTENTIAL to be, mind you. It will all depend on how it’s handled. If Alina is dragged back in? I’m going to say it destroys, not its own storyline, but the storyline of the Grisha trilogy. If Alina is left tf alone, I’m still side-eyeing, but I’m side-eyeing because of my own tastes, not because I think there’s a fundamental issue with the plot. 

Different things can destroy stories for different people, and those same things can MAKE stories for others. Again, I LOVED Rhys and Feyre’s cameo in Kingdom of Ash. I am a SUCKER for stuff like that, even though it’s silly (it’s a book people, let your hair down, ok). It really ripped other people out of the world, and that’s ok. They can side eye it for all those reasons all they want. My issue is that there’s a double standard (sometimes–not all the time!) with some of SJM’s antis, where they tear her down or ridicule her for making a similar choice to what they praise other authors for.

TL:DR–> There’s a difference between being destructive to your audience and being destructive to your story, and one is much more important than the other. It’s important to criticize. But be aware of your critiques. If you’re slandering an author for something you would praise another for, don’t be surprised when some readers/viewers stop assigning your critiques credibility and ascribe half of what you say to bitterness.  

[dust2dust34]

Pieces of Always: October 2015 FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated (and @dust2dust34)

Summary: Oliver experiences being a dad to Will in a whole new way.

An ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note.

A/N: The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

(read on AO3)

October 2015

School had never been that exciting for Oliver, but this is different. Now, he’s not sitting behind a desk trying to pass notes behind the teacher’s back. He’s William’s dad. He gets to meet everyone who matters in his seven-year-old’s day-to-day life. And that’s a whole lot more exciting. He’s practically giddy as he pushes his way through the elementary school doors and he and Will head to the school gym.

He’d be hard-pressed to decide which of them was looking forward to today more, actually, him or Will. The little boy vibrates with excitement like he’s about to bounce off the walls under the influence of too much sugar. He’s not, though. Not yet. That’ll come later, because Oliver’s figured out really fast that he’s terrible at telling his son ‘no’ when it’s something trivial. He doesn’t get to see him enough as it is and if he can make his little boy smile just by sharing an ice cream or getting him a piece of candy then he’s absolutely going to do it. Even if it makes Samantha sigh at him really, really hard when he drops him back off at her place with far more energy than is natural, even for a boy his age.

“Come on, Dad! Come on!” Will says, tugging with all his might. He’s practically in a run, his eyes bright and happy as he leads his father toward where it sounds like the entire school is gathered.

Oliver wonders if his son will stop holding his hand once they’re around his friends. What age does that start at? He doesn’t know. But he hopes it’s not yet because he loves the way his little boy’s fingers fit in his. He doesn’t get this often enough.

“Nothing starts for another fifteen minutes, buddy,” Oliver chuckles. “What’s your rush?”

“You’ve gotta meet Ms. Adams and Mr. Scheinhoft and Ms. Alvarez and all my friends because they don’t even know you yet!” Will exclaims. It’s a school fundraiser festival - the sort of thing where you buy a pile of tickets and play silly games for sillier prizes - but to Will it might as well be an Introduce-My-Dad party. Oliver can’t even pretend to object. Will wanting to show him off might be just about the best feeling in the world.

“That sounds like a lot of people,” Oliver tells him.

“It is,” Will confirms with a very serious nod. “It’s okay if you don’t remember them all. I’ll help you.”

He’s so earnest, sees it as his own personal mission, and Oliver finds himself yet again astounded by how lucky he is, how much he loves this little boy and how much his life has changed in the last year and a half. He’s a father twice-over now, engaged to the most remarkable woman he’s ever met and his crusade to save the city feels more like a quest to better the world for his kids than a struggle to redeem his own sins as well as his father’s. He’s happy.

“Ms. Adams is your teacher,” Oliver recites. “And Mr. Scheinhoft is your music teacher?”

“Yes!” Will declares proudly, like his dad has just passed some kind of test. “And Ms. Alvarez teaches P.E.. That’s super important, Dad. You gotta talk to her because she has suggestions for baseball teams and I told her you’d ask, okay? She thinks I could be really good and so do I and I wanna play.”

Oliver’s already done his own research - or, well, okay so Felicity did most of it - and he’s got a couple of little league team possibilities in mind, but it really will be good to have a chat with his P.E. teacher because Will has taken to baseball in a way that Oliver could never have expected. He wonders how much of that is linked to that first day they met. He quietly hopes a lot of it. He loves the idea that he’s had that kind of a positive impact on his son.

“Got it,” he says. “Ms. Alvarez for baseball talk. Anything else I need to know?”

“No,” Will tells him. “But I wish Julie-bug could be here. Mr. Scheinhoft said he’d bring the drums for us to play with in the courtyard and I bet she’d like that.”

It’s a heartwarming thought and Oliver can’t help but smile. “She would,” he agrees. “But she’s still little, Will. I think she’d be overwhelmed here. Plus she’ll need a nap before it’s over. That’s why Felicity is meeting us later. Grandma Donna is gonna come over and keep an eye on her while she naps.”

“I know,” Will sighs. “But I don’t get to see her for two more whole weeks.” It’s a childish whine but Oliver can’t let that bother him because the sentiment is so very heartfelt.

“How about I talk to your mom when she gets here and see if we can all meet up for dinner sometime this week?” Oliver suggests.

“Really?” Will asks, his eyebrows shooting up with excitement. “Can it be pizza?”

“Hold on, buddy,” Oliver laughs. “I said I’d talk to her. No promises that we can work things out. But I’ll see what we can do, okay? Let’s get that figured out before we talk pizza.”

“You’re the best, Dad,” Will declares, dropping his hand and diving in for an uninhibited hug. It hadn’t taken very long for Will to warm up to him, after they met. But this… this is the kind of thing that surprised Oliver the most, the easy affection Will shows his family. Awkward though the conversation might have been, Oliver had actually thanked Samantha for that, for the way she’s raised their son in his absence. She easily could have told Will all kinds of horrible things about him, shown him the worst of who his father had been and done irreparable damage to their relationship long before Oliver even knew his son existed.

But she hadn’t.

She’d acted in their son’s best interests, showing him only love and affection, telling him vague but positive stories about his father in those early years. For that, Oliver will always be grateful to his one-time fling. He might not know her that well, surely never loved her, but she’s a damned good mom to their son.

Oliver drops a kiss atop his little boy’s head. He’s still perpetually amazed that he can do things like this - hug his son, show how much he means to him - and he breathes in the child’s scent with a smile.

“You ready?” he asks, pulling back and tilting his head toward the gym door.

“So ready,” Will confirms. “I’m like super ready. I was born ready.”

Oliver grins and shakes his head. “Let’s do it, then.”

Will pushes open the gym doors with gusto before grabbing his dad’s hand tightly. It’s not that he’s afraid to let go. Not at all. This is his school, his home turf, and he’s very comfortable here. No, Oliver is pretty sure that Will is clinging to him entirely out of the desire to claim him, to declare in every way possible that this is his father, and suddenly Oliver wishes he’d pushed harder with Samantha to come to school events last year. It clearly means a lot to Will.

But, that doesn’t mean that this’ll be easy. In fact, the sudden lull when they walk into the room tells Oliver it’ll be anything but simple. He’s on record with the school as Will’s dad, but Oliver’s something of a public figure and it suddenly strikes him that he’s very recognizable and even though Will has definitely told all of his friends about his father, he probably hadn’t given many details.

“Jacob!” Will shouts to another little boy, waving furiously in the other kid’s direction. The boys are all grins at each other and Will’s friend’s eyes slide over Oliver without an ounce of recognition. The boy’s father, though, does a double-take. Oliver smiles back at the man, but even he knows it has to look nervous.

Because it is.

He hadn’t realized quite how much he needs this to go well until this moment. In the past year, he’s spent time with his son. They’ve gone to baseball games and played in the park and celebrated holidays. But, in a lot of ways, their relationship has still been private. The media, for some reason, has been slow to catch on and it’s not like he’s issued any kind of public statement about his son. For the most part, they’ve had the opportunity to grow their bond as father and son in a sheltered setting without the prying eyes of the public. That ends today. Today, Oliver’s stepping outside of his own little world and into Will’s. And that, he finds, is terrifying.

Will definitely doesn’t share that assessment, though.

“This is my dad!” he announces. He sounds as proud as Oliver can even imagine and suddenly that’s the only thing that matters. “Dad, this is Jacob, he’s in my class and he’s a really good worm finder.”

“Worm finder?” Oliver laughs, soaking in the happiness on his son’s face.

“Yup!” Will confirms. “He wants to be a worm farmer when he grows up. I might help and be a worm doctor, in case any of his worms get hurt.”

“That sounds like a really specialized field,” Oliver replies, amusement crinkling at the edges of his eyes.

“It is,” Will replies.

“Will’s a super helper, though. He’ll be a really good worm doctor, Mr. Clayton,” Jacob says. A strange tightness grips Oliver’s features as he smiles back at the boy. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Will’s friends would assume his father had the same last name, but in hindsight it seems obvious.

“Oh, his name isn’t Clayton. That’s my name,” Will laughs, shrugging it off easily.

“You can just call me Oliver. If that’s alright with your dad, anyhow,” Oliver tells the boy. “Or Will’s dad. That works, too.”

It seems to be the way Will refers to his friend’s parents most frequently anyhow - Jacob’s dad or Aiden’s mom or Emma’s parents. Their identities are boiled down to how they relate to their kids. It feels like another mask, another role that Oliver’s taking on, but it’s one he absolutely relishes.

“If, uh… if that’s what you’d prefer, I suppose that’s okay,” Jacob’s dad says a little anxiously. Yeah, there’s no doubt at all in Oliver’s mind that this man knows exactly who he is. That’s something that’s solidly confirmed when the other man extends his hand in greeting. “I’ve gotta admit that it sounds a bit strange to me, though, considering I work for your company. Down in the payroll department. It’s good to meet you, sir. My name’s Rick.”

Oliver shakes the man’s hand warmly. “We’re not at work, Rick. My name’s Oliver. And here I’d like to just be Will’s dad. The rest doesn’t matter right now. This is about him.”

“Fair enough,” Rick replies, nodding at him with something that looks like admiration. “I wasn’t aware you had a son, actually.”

“That’s, uh…” Oliver starts, swallowing hard and rubbing the back of his own neck. It’s Will who bails him out though and he does it in the most matter-of-fact way possible.

“Dad was lost on an island when I was born,” Will informs his friend’s dad. “He didn’t even know about me. We only got to meet last summer, but it’s been the best, cause now I have a dad and he’s awesome!”

Oliver can’t help the lump that forms in his throat or the way his eyes water at that and he doesn’t even try. Instead, he pulls Will close for a hug and murmurs a quiet, “You’re awesome, too, Bud. I’m really lucky that I get to be your dad.”

It’s meant only for Will’s ears, but when Oliver looks back toward Rick, it’s clear the other man heard, too. Oliver has the sense that he’s being reassessed and that he suddenly has a whole lot more respect from Jacob’s father than he had before.

“Did you see all the stuff you can win?” Jacob asks Will. He’s every bit as bubbly with excitement as Will has been. “There’s fish! That’d be cool, right? We could feed them worms.”

“Cool!” Will declares before looking back up at his father. “Can I go look with Jacob, Dad? Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Oliver agrees. “Just stay where I can see you.”

“We gotta see how many tokens we need to win for the fish! Come on!” Jacob says urgently, grabbing Will by the wrist and dragging him in the direction of the prize display.

Oliver watches the boys run over to the prizes with wide eyes, their heads tilt toward each other conspiratorially as they plot precisely what they’re going to save their tokens for. Something tells Oliver that he’s going to wind up spending an absurd amount of money to win his son a fish. It’s fine. He’d already planned on writing the school a pretty large check.

“Good of you not to mention that feeding worms to the fish might go against his mission to be a worm doctor,” Rick notes from his side.

Oliver chuckles at that and glances at the other man. “Well, he hasn’t taken an oath to do no harm yet, so I guess it’s okay for now.” He pauses for a moment while he mulls over exactly what he wants to say next. “It seems like he and Jacob are close. Will talks about him a lot.”

“They are,” Rick confirms. “Will’s a good kid. We live a few streets over from him and the boys mess around outside after school pretty often… I’m a little surprised about you, I’ve got to admit. Will’s obviously mentioned spending the weekend with you before, but I didn’t know you were… you.”

“Because to Will, I’m just his dad,” Oliver replies. “He doesn’t give a damn that I’m Oliver Queen. Neither does his mom, for that matter.”

He’s busy watching the boys, but he can feel Rick’s eyes on him, adjusting his preconceived notions and assumptions with every word.

“Well, Will’s dad, welcome to Pine Creek Elementary,” Rick tells him. “Seeing as this is your first time at one of these things, care for a bit of advice?”

“Always,” Oliver agrees, folding his arms and sparing the other man a glance.

“Jackie’s the one in the jean jacket with the flowery skirt over there, don’t let her corner you or you’ll wind up volunteering for something. Probably more than one something. She’s also the head of her homeowner’s association and that probably tells you everything you need to know about her,” Rick advises.

“Good tip,” Oliver agrees. “Anything else?”

“Mark, over by the fruit punch with the backwards ballcap… he will talk your ear off about sports. Nick’s in the leather jacket next to him and he’s got a start-up company he’s working on so I’d avoid him at all costs because he will hit you up to be an investor.”

Well, that’s a solid piece of advice and Oliver finds he’s exceedingly grateful to Rick as he listens intently and keeps an eye on the boys, who’ve moved on to some kind of spy kit that they’ve clearly decided they also need to save for.

“And Diane, Kimberly’s mom… she’ll be here at some point,” Rick says with a wince. “You’ll know who she is because she’ll be the one in the lowest cut shirt in the room and some kind of animal print high heels. She got divorced at the start of the year and she’s… aggressive.”

“I’m engaged,” Oliver tells him.

“Yeah, and I’m married, but that doesn’t seem to mean much to her,” Rick notes.

Lovely. But, Oliver’s very familiar with attention from women and he knows how to politely turn someone down. Still, this is Will’s school and he’s so very grateful for all the inside knowledge Rick’s sharing.

“My fiancee will be here as soon as her mom shows up to watch our daughter,” Oliver informs Rick. “Hopefully that’ll help.”

“It’ll be good to see Felicity,” Rick says, surprising Oliver. “She fixed my computer more than once back when she worked in IT. She’s sweet, funny, smart as a whip. I always liked her, especially since no one else in IT is half as good at computers. We’ve all missed her since she moved up to your office.”

“She’s overqualified for her job,” Oliver admits. “But I’m underqualified for mine and I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“What’s any man without a good woman at his side?” Rick asks with a shrug. “I know I’m lost without my wife. She’s on a business trip this whole week and I swear I don’t know how she balances everything she does with the house and the kids and her job. I’m ready to hire a maid and get takeout every night.”

Oliver can’t help but laugh at that, but the sound dies off as he realizes someone is closing in on them. “Aw, damn,” Rick winces. “That’d be Principal Meyers. He’s gonna want money… and Tanya’s on his heels. She’s the president of the PTA and she’s gonna want you to volunteer for something.”

Rick says this like it’s a bad thing but Oliver doesn’t quite see it that way. He likes the idea of giving back to Will’s school. The money part is easy. He’s more than happy to give the school whatever it wants and then some. The volunteering part feels more meaningful, though. And it might give him a chance to spend some extra time around Will that isn’t their every-other-weekend set-up.

Speaking of Will, the little boy and his friend chatter away as they make their way back to Oliver and Rick. That’s nice, because it means Oliver doesn’t have to divide his attention as much, keeping an eye on Will across the room as he chats.

And he definitely has a conversation coming because it’s very obvious from the look on the principal’s face that he knows exactly who Oliver is. In fact, Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if the other man has been keeping an eye out for him ever since he was added to Will’s emergency contact form.

“Mr. Queen,” the principal greets, shaking Oliver’s hand a bit too firmly. “It’s so good to finally meet Will’s father.”

“I’m glad to be here,” Oliver replies, resting his free hand on Will’s shoulder.

“You must be so proud of your son,” the principal continues. “He’s a smart, friendly boy. We’re very happy to have him here with us as part of our Pine Creek family. ”

“Everybody likes Will,” Jacob pipes up. “He’s funny and makes bubbles with his chocolate milk behind the lunch monitors’ backs.”

Will just grins and shrugs, completely unashamed of his innocent rule-breaking tendencies. He’ll do anything for a laugh, though, whether that’s for his family or his friends. Oliver’s well aware that his son is a bit of a class clown. He’d have known that even without being told. And while Will is surely a smart kid, it’s not like he’s exceptionally beyond his classmates. So, it feels more than a bit like he’s being pandered to by the principal right now and that rubs Oliver the wrong way.

“I’m always proud of Will,” Oliver says easily. His boy leans into him with a gentle affection that makes Oliver smile even without looking down at him. “And I’m glad to have finally had a chance to see his school.”

“We’re a great little school,” the principal starts before launching into a painfully long speech that he’d probably prepared long ago about the financial challenges they face due to budget constraints. Oliver can’t blame Rick a bit when he and Jacob disappear. It’s impressive how long the principal can talk without taking a breath, but Oliver finally manages to get a word in edgewise after a few minutes.

“I completely understand,” he says, very aware of the way Will’s begun to fidget next to him. He wants to get to the games and prizes. Of course he does. He’s seven. “That’s why I’m planning on matching anything you raise tonight twice over,” he continues to the principal’s delight. “Provided you keep my name out of it.”

He glances at Will, but his son’s paying no attention to the conversation going on right in front of him. He’s too distracted by his friend Jacob doing his level-best to sink a basketball as many times as he can before the buzzer runs down. That’s the sort of thing he should be focused on and Oliver finds he’s quite done having the conversation with the principal and the PTA president standing silently at his side.

“That’s quite generous, Mr. Queen,” the principal says with a pleased smile. “We could surely use it.”

“Absolutely,” Oliver confirms. “And if there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”

“Actually,” Tanya, the PTA president, continues. “Before you step away - I’m sure there’s plenty Will wants to do here - we’d love to see you involved in a few school events.”

“Dad, can we do the hoop shots next? I bet you could get a lot and we could win so many tokens! It might even be enough for a fish,” Will pleads.

“Sure, buddy,” Oliver tells him. “But I think you’re supposed to be the one who takes the shots.”

Will’s little brow furrows seriously at that and he nods with determination. “I’m further from the basket so I bet you’d do better, but I’ll try.”

“That’s my boy,” Oliver grins, ruffling his hair before looking back at Tanya. “I’d love to be involved with more school events. My schedule is pretty tight but if you e-mail me, we’ll make something work. My e-mail’s on file with the school.”

“Actually, Mr. Queen,” Tanya says as Will tries to drag him away toward the basketball hoop. “We had something that you might be able to help with today. One of the booths. We’re a little short-handed.”

“Sure,” Oliver agrees right away, his attention honed in on Will. “As soon as Samantha or my fiancee get here to help keep an eye on Will, I’ll be happy to help however I can.”

“Perfect!” Tanya says with toothy delight.

Oliver doesn’t think about that overly thrilled grin again for quite some time, doesn’t analyze it at all as he and Will work their way through virtually all of the games and half of the junk food available. By the time he meets all of Will’s teachers and Samantha gets there, he’s forgotten about it entirely.

“How many tickets did you buy him?” Samantha asks in astonishment as she takes in the miniature mountain of cheap toys Will’s amassed along with three fish in little plastic baggies. Oliver’s pretty sure they won’t eat worms, but he hasn’t had the heart to tell Will that.

“It’s for a good cause,” Oliver says with what he feels is his most charming smile. It doesn’t work on Samantha. It never does. She’s immune, has been since pretty much the instant she found out she was pregnant with Will.

“Totally a good cause,” Will agrees, backing up his dad. “Mr. Meyers said the computer lab can probably get all new machines and the baseball field is gonna get redone because of how many games we played! Isn’t that awesome?”

He’s so very happy - a blinding grin taking over his face, showing off his loose tooth near the front - and while Oliver’s charm might get him nowhere with Samantha, their son’s definitely does.

“That is awesome, Will, you’re right,” she agrees. “It’s just…”

“It’s his school, Sam,” Oliver points out. “It’s helping him and hundreds of other kids. I’m not buying him piles of toys.”

She gives him the most incredulous look he’s ever seen and points at the mass of toys piled in front of Will. Okay… so she has a point. Kind of.

“You know that’s not why I bought so many tickets,” Oliver sighs, feeling like they’re about to launch into this debate for the millionth time. It never gets too involved in front of Will - they’re both more cautious than that - but he’s tired even considering going rounds with her about buying things for Will again.

“I know it’s not entirely why you bought so many tickets,” she corrects. Oliver grits his teeth to keep from replying and turns his attention back to Will, who’s sucking on a lollipop and staring at his fish. He wraps an arm around his boy and leans back against the gym wall, crossing his feet at the ankles.

Will leans his head against his father with a happy little hum before looking up at his mom. “Do you want a lollipop, Mom?” he asks. “I’ve got plenty. I saved you the lime ones ‘cause I know they’re your favorite.”

She sits on Will’s other side, sandwiching the boy between his parents and holds out a hand palm-up. Will roots around his pile for a neon green lollipop and places it in his mom’s hand like it’s the best present he’s ever come up with.

“Thanks, kiddo,” she tells him unwrapping it and popping the sweet into her mouth. “I missed you,” she says around the candy. “Did you have a good weekend with your dad?”

“Yup!” Will confirms. His tongue is bright red from his lollipop. “Jules is walking! I helped her. Dad got it on video. You wanna see?”

“Will, I don’t think your mom-” Oliver starts, but Samantha cuts him off.

“Sure,” she says, surprising him. “I love seeing you with your sister. You make such a great brother.”

“I do,” Will nods. It’s so matter-of-fact. He’s so secure in that fact that it’s both heart-warming and astonishing.

“I’ll text it to you later, Sam,” Oliver says before kissing his boy atop his head again while Samantha rubs their son’s shoulder.

“This is nice,” Will says after a minute. “I like spending time with both of you at once.” Oliver’s heart sinks a little at that, because if Will’s convinced himself that there’s any shot whatsoever for his parents to wind up together… “It’d be better if Felicity were here too, though,” Will adds and Oliver breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

“Soon,” Oliver tells him. “I’m kind of surprised she’s not here yet. Jules must have had trouble falling asleep.”

“Because I’m not there,” Will says, shaking his head. “She misses me.”

The damned thing of it is, Oliver’s not sure he’s wrong.

But there’s no time to ponder that because it’s then that he spots the PTA president, Tanya, waving at him. Damn… he’d actually forgotten. “Sam, I promised Tanya I’d man one of the booths after you got here, if that’s okay.”

She blinks owlishly at him in response. “You’re manning a booth?”

“Well, yeah,” Oliver confirms warily. “They said they could use some help and I’d really like to be more involved with the school. Is that okay?”

There’s a moment where she just stares at him before shaking her head. “You never cease to surprise me, Oliver,” she tells him.

She’d thought it was just money he was looking to provide, he realizes. She’d thought he’d wanted to throw cash at the school and call it good. That’s sobering, to know it’s what his son’s mom thinks of him, but they don’t actually know each other all that well and he guesses he can’t blame her for jumping to the wrong conclusion. She probably would have been right about the boy she’d had a week-long winter-break-fling with eight years ago. But he’s not that guy. Not anymore. Not after that damned island and everything that’s happened since.

“Sure,” she agrees. “Go run a booth for Tanya. We won’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Will hugs him one more time before he stands up and heads over toward Tanya. In the background, he can hear his son casually mentioning that he said they could go out for pizza later this week, so that’s gonna be another fun conversation with Sam later. But he lets that fade away as he closes in on Tanya, intent on making a good impression.

“How can I help?” he asks.

“Oh good,” Tanya says with a slightly frazzled sigh as she holds the tablet she was managing things on against her chest. “Mike has a cold so he had to bow out, but we need someone for the dunk tank. Mind getting drenched for a good cause?”

It doesn’t take years of finely-tuned senses to pick up on the sudden lull as the attention of a fair bit of women tuned in to hear his response.

“A cold, huh?” he asks, pulling his sweater over his head and taking his wallet and phone from his pocket.

“Sure,” Tanya agrees, taking the objects he’d prefer to keep dry in hand. She’s lying. Oliver knows that immediately, but to her credit she doesn’t seem to have any intention of hiding it. “That and we’ll raise a whole lot more money if people get to dunk Oliver Queen than the school counselor.”

“Alright,” Oliver chuckles, toeing off his shoes and shaking his head. “I get it. Mind if my son gets the first pitch?”

“If you’re willing to get soaked, I think we can let him kick things off,” she confirms.

Will can’t quite manage it, as it turns out. He’s too focused on how hard he can throw and - in spite of his definite baseball skills - he obviously feels the pressure of a very large crowd watching him intently. The fourth grader who comes up after him, however, has a whole lot more luck.

And that’s how Oliver Queen winds up soaked to the bone in a white t-shirt and jeans with far louder cheers from entirely too many adult women for an elementary school fundraiser when his fiancee shows up.

He spots her right away, grinning and winking at her right before some fifth grader nails the bullseye and sends him into the water yet again. She looks amused and more than a little astonished at first glance. None of that fades away when he gets back up on the perch and swipes at his face with the bottom of his shirt to the unabashed appreciation of an entire gaggle of soccer moms.

“One more?” he asks, glancing toward Tanya, who nods in agreement. He’s been at this a while at this point, so it’s not like she’s about to protest.

“I wanna go again! Can I do it? I bet I can get him this time. I know I can.” Will’s basically jumping up and down on the balls of his feet, tugging Samantha’s arm. Felicity appears at his other side a moment later, handing him a few tickets she must have bought at the door.

“Soak him, Will,” she commands as Samantha looks on in bemused delight.

“Yes!” Will cheers, actually raising a fist in triumph - something Oliver is more than certain he picked up from Felicity.

The look of sheer concentration that takes over his little face as he grabs a ball and studies the target is utterly adorable. It takes everything Oliver’s got not to laugh out loud at his furrowed forehead and knit-together eyebrows.

“Feels kind of unfair, you using things I taught you against me,” he tells Will, wiping away some water from his eyes and shaking out his hair.

“You’re the one who put yourself in the tank, Dad,” Will points out.

Oliver does laugh aloud at that. “You’ve got a point. Take your time. Watch your footing and follow through. You’ve got this, kiddo.”

“You’re helping me?” Will asks, blinking at him with stunned, wide eyes. “I’m trying to dunk you. I’m the enemy right now.”

“I’ll always help you, Will,” he promises immediately. “No matter what. Now… breathe evenly, set your feet and when you’re ready, give it a good throw. You don’t need to hit the target hard. Accuracy is more important.”

Will nods and his focus returns back to the target. He chews his lip, undoubtedly aware of exactly how many pairs of eyes are on him. Pitching’s never been his strongest suit in baseball, but it is his favorite part of the sport, and his aim’s gotten much better over the last year. So, Oliver’s not surprised when his boy hits the bullseye dead center on his first attempt and the ledge drops out beneath him, sending him falling into the water yet again. But just because he saw it coming doesn’t make the surge of pride that wells up any less all encompassing.

The absolute joy on Will’s face as he cheers his own success is utterly contagious. Oliver barely has enough time to wipe the water from his face after he climbs out of the tank before Will barrels into him for a soaking wet hug.

“I did it, Dad! I got you!” Will declares. He doesn’t seem to care at all that he’s now awfully wet as well.

“You did. I knew you could, buddy,” Oliver replies, hugging him tightly then stepping back to give him a high five. Their hands meet with a loud, wet slap and Will’s sneakers squeak against the gym floor as he jumps up in excitement.

“I get more tokens!” Will realizes brightly. “I think now I can get the ant farm!” Oliver cringes at that because that cannot possibly go over well with Samantha, but Will darts off in the direction of his mother before Oliver has a chance to say anything. He watches after his boy with a small grin that reaches his eyes and a quietly affectionate shake of his head right up until someone hands him a towel and a feminine hand lands on his bicep.

He sort of assumes it’s Felicity. It’s a natural assumption. She’s here after all and no longer standing next to Samantha where he’d last seen her. Plus, it’s been quite some time since another woman has touched him more intimately than a handshake.

And yet… when he wipes his face with the towel handed to him and opens his eyes, he finds he’s staring at a pair of leopard print high heels that his fiance absolutely does not own.

He knows because her shoes take up a solid half of his side of the closet.

“Uh… hi. Thank you,” he says, looking up with a tight smile at the woman in front of him. “For the towel.”

She’s still patting his wet arm, making a half-hearted attempt to dry him off but mostly just letting her hand linger. “You’re welcome,” she purrs, sporting a cat-that-ate-the-canary toothy grin.

Oliver would prefer to back up, but there’s really nowhere to go, so he edges to the side slightly. Her hand drops, so there’s that at least, but her body language is all suggestiveness and Oliver can’t remember the last time he was this uncomfortable in a woman’s presence.

Yes he can. Last year, at the beach with his then-pregnant girlfriend. Just remembering how that had gone makes him swallow hard as he instinctively tries to inch away further.

“So you’re Will’s dad? I’m Diane, Kimberly’s mom,” the woman tells him. Like she doesn’t know exactly who he is. She does. He knows that look on her face, is very familiar with the way someone’s eyes light up when he’s Oliver Queen, like he’s an idea more than a person.

“Oliver,” he returns, pleasant-but-fake smile firmly affixed to his face as he tries to calculate how he can get away without being overly rude. “And I should, uh…”

“Will’s fine,” Diane tells him, waving off his pending excuse. “Samantha’s got him.” Sure enough, she does. The two of them are back over at the prize table where Will is clearly pleading for his ant farm. She tosses Oliver an annoyed look, but it morphs into somewhere between pity and amusement when she takes in Diane’s presence and his obvious discomfort.

So… at least someone thinks this is all funny.

“We should set up a playdate,” Diane says. Her voice is the closest thing to a coo Oliver can think of. It’s so painfully awkward that he’s not actually sure what to do. “Grab a cup of coffee… get to know each other. Let the kids play together.”

“Are they friends?” Oliver asks skeptically. He’s never heard Will mention Kimberly.

“They could becomes friends,” she answers, hand resting on his arm again. “We could, too.”

“Hi.”

Felicity’s left hand settles on his shoulder, her engagement ring shining brightly in what has to be an intentional move to show it off. His arm wraps around his fiance like he’s using her as a buffer, as a shield. And okay he sort of is, but only because this is Will’s school and it’s his first time here. Normally, he’s more than adept at sidestepping interested women - it’s not like they’re a rarity in his life - but it’s so important to him to make a good impression here, to be accepted as Will’s father, and it leaves him a little uncertain on how he’s supposed to react.

“I’m Felicity. Oliver’s fiance. And you are?” she asks. Her voice is overly sweet, sickeningly so, but there’s a level of amusement beneath it that he’s tentatively relieved to hear.

“Diane,” the woman returns, shaking Felicity’s hand before looking back toward Oliver as if Felicity weren’t even there. “Oliver and I were just talking about getting our kids together for a playdate sometime.”

Our kids.

Her emphasis leaves no question about who she considers the parents in this situation and Felicity, in her mind, does not count.

Felicity’s hand grips against his shoulder a little harder at being left out of the equation and he finds himself stroking her side to soothe or support her, whichever she needs right now. She takes her role as Will’s stepmother to heart and Oliver’s not sure there’s anything the other woman could have said to upset her more than cutting her out of Will’s family.

“I’m sorry, but you should probably take that up with Samantha,” Felicity tells her. “When our son is with us, we use that for family time. You understand, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” Diane replies. Her voice is pleasant but Oliver doesn’t buy for a second that it’s genuine. “Well, I should go check on my daughter. It was good to meet you, Oliver. And… I’m sorry, this is rude, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Felicity smiles. “I don’t think we’ll be crossing paths much in the future.”

It’s both dismissive and the rudest Oliver’s ever heard his fiance and he finds himself blinking at her in surprise as Diane huffs and walks off. Felicity watches her go with an overt glare for a moment before uttering a disgruntled sound of annoyance and dropping her hand from Oliver’s shoulder.

He very nearly holds his breath as he waits for her reaction.

“So, that’s the sort of pick-up lines a Wisteria Lane soccer mom uses, huh?” she asks. The lightness in her voice actually doesn’t sound forced and Oliver cautiously lets out a long, hesitant breath of relief. “Who knew ‘playdate-and-chill’ was a thing?”

“Felicity,” he protests, wincing a little at the jibe.

“No, no, this is super interesting, Oliver,” she tells him, resting a hand on his chest, right over his Bratva tattoo and stroking lightly with her nails against the wet fabric. “How does this all work? Like, is it a ‘your playground or mine’ situation? Or is there carpooling? Is someone asking for a ride?”

She’s clearly having fun and she thinks it’s at his expense, but her amusement is contagious and she’s clearly forgotten that he doesn’t embarrass easily. His teenage years spent alongside Tommy Merlyn had all but ensured that.

Licking his lips, Oliver sets a hand on his fiance’s hip and leans in, tilting his head toward hers. “Honey, anytime you want a ride, all you need to do is say so.”

“Oliver Queen,” she gasps, eyes widening. She looks equal parts scandalized and delighted.

“Felicity Smoak,” he counters. If his fingers splay a touch wider on her hip than is really appropriate for his son’s elementary school gym, well… that’s just too bad. He’s not sorry.

“Not for long,” she grins. “Just another year and then I’m Felicity Queen.”

God, he’ll never get tired of hearing that. His heart utterly flips at the sound of her first name with his last. He hadn’t expected her to take his name. Not really. He’d sort of thought she might hyphenate. He’d been quietly hoping she would, because he had never thought she’d just take his last name entirely. But she’d surprised him.

“You already are in all the ways that matter,” he reminds her, dipping down to kiss her softly. It’s gentle, emotionally charged but in a quiet way, and when he pulls back he somehow feels stronger and more at ease than before. “I’m sorry about that woman.”

“I suppose I can’t blame her taste,” Felicity muses. “But none of that was your fault, Oliver. You looked like a terrified, cornered puppy dog or something.”

“A puppy dog?” he asks incredulously.

“A drenched one,” Felicity confirms. “It was both cute and kind of sad. I felt compelled to rescue you. So here I am. Your hero.”

“You’ve always been my hero,” he replies immediately with a toothy grin.

“Well…. That’s good,” Felicity says, pride and maybe a touch of embarrassment coloring her cheeks, “because you’re mine, too.”

“Makes us a hell of a team,” he points out. “And an even better family.”

“Yeah. It does,” she agrees, biting her lip and smiling up at him with unmasked affection that it still floors him to see directed at him from her on a daily basis. “Now, let’s get outta here and get you dried off. I made plans to meet our son and his mom for dinner… and to take custody of an ant farm and several fish, because we are not dumping those on Samantha. She isn’t the one who’s a pushover for our little boy, now is she?”

He winces at the thought of an ant farm in their house, but it’s half-hearted at best, and he finds himself nodding before he even realizes it. Felicity slips her hand into his and squeezes his fingers. And suddenly that, his son’s raucous laughter from across the room, and the knowledge their baby girl is safe and sound at home with her grandmother is absolutely everything Oliver needs.

*

Thank you for reading!

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Will and will not cover dependent on the policy wording. Your Insurance Policy agency,

Plays an alternate function. Don't be Reluctant to ask clarifications to avert

Instance of Tree Falling on Roof Triggering Water Damage and Mold & Gradual Injury

Make sure you purchase the very best insurance for your own wants, and inquire concerning extra coverages you are able to include that could be useful to you.

Should It Is Sti do not understand why some thing isn't insured, and you Believe

Claims really are:

Are insured on home insurance here.

Things, such as "gradual injury " are not covered.

Sudden or slow.

Gradual damage water damage is not usually covered, therefore although your coverage

Your broker who informed youpersonally, the insurance plan, or a contractor? Each individual

It

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Make sure that you know all of the coverages onto your own plan, and possess a very good comprehension of the exceptions, so and the position as a property owner.

Harm, the type of coverage you've got of course in the event the water damage is inadvertent and

Just How To Avoid Getting An Water Damage and Mold Claim Denied

Something that unexpectedly appeared to you, however is still the result of something which

Insurance claim, after end and water injury. The Proportion of claims due

Through a endorsement. You have a right to know what is coated (or can be

A number of their Most Frequent examples of slow damage resulting in losses or refused

Drinking Water Damage Exclusions to Home Insurance Policy Coverage

Readily available ) on your own insurance for future reference. You may also want to figure