i came out of the darkness with a bullet in my hand

[theresalwayshope]

"I'm so sorry to have to ask you to stay late, Allison..."

Allison smiled, typing out a couple more words before saving the document she was working on, then leaning over to retrieve the USB drive from her computer that she'd used to save it. "It's no problem, Mrs. Livingston. It all worked out: my best friend happens to be into thermodynamics so I'm familiar with some of the terminology, Dr. Kyle won't lose any time reviewing his lab data for tomorrow's experiment...and Sally will never eat day old chicken salad ever again, so she won't miss work due to food poisoning."

Turning in her chair, she handed the USB drive to Mrs. Livingston brightly. "And the overtime I just clocked will be a nice contribution to the Buy Allison A New Car fund."

Mrs. Livingston accepted the drive, her smile dimming with concern. "I do wish you'd let me drive you home. It's awfully late."

"I promise, I'm fine." Allison insisted as she rolled back from her desk just enough to retrieve her purse from her desk drawer, along with her History book. "The bus stop is only at the end of the street, it's well lit, and I have people I can call if I get nervous near my building."

The older lady continued to frown and fret as she peered at Allison over her wire-rimmed glasses, but she finally accepted Allison's reassurances that she would be fine. She was a kind woman, and actually pretty normal for being a local. Allison liked her a lot, and was always warmed by her grandmotherly concern, however unwarranted.

Working at Darrow Amalgamated was one of the best things to ever happen to Allison. It gave her a use for some of the technobabble she'd absorbed from Lydia through osmosis over the time they'd known each other, her supervisor was a nice older lady, and her co-workers were awesome...especially a certain rock star scientist she got to see on a regular basis. The pay was also pretty good for a clerical position, and though this was only the second time she'd ever been asked to say late and get some overtime, it was completely worth it...and needed to happen more often if she was ever going to afford a car.

After swearing one final time to call her if she had any trouble in the next hour and needed that lift, Allison left the office. It was already after nine, but her homework was done, she didn't have any tests to study for until Monday, and Mrs. Livingston had ordered dinner for the two of them from an awesome little deli a few blocks away, so she could go home, do some stretching, and watch TV until she was tired enough to fall asleep.

She was halfway to her bus stop when she became aware of a presence at her back, something tickling between her shoulderblades with a sick sense of foreboding. Reaching into her purse, her fingers curled around her keys...and the can of mace on her keyring. She had her usual knives on her, the byrd in the waistband of her skirt and the Spyderco clipped to the middle of her bra, easily accessible under the v-neck top she'd worn that day, but her instincts were different now: nonlethal force before lethal. The mace would keep her safe, and she wouldn't have to kill anyone.

Then again, maybe she was being paranoid again. She'd been doing that a lot.

She got a few more feet down the street before she heard a footfall. Her heart picked up a beat as she glanced back over her shoulder.

Someone was walking down the street behind her.

Allison couldn't make out any details, save that he was male, and stopped just beyond the streetlight to look at something on his cell phone, preventing her from seeing his face even in the dull glow of his phone screen. He was stooping, so she couldn't judge his height properly...at this distance, she couldn't even look at his shoes ("If you can't see an attacker's face, look at his shoes. They can be just as distinctive right after an assault." Her father's voice rang in her ears, heavy with warning, years before she would fear a mugger or a rapist less than the kids she went to school with.).

Feeling a familiar cold, steely hardness settle in her chest, making her feel strangely light and nearly invincible, Allison slid her hand out of her purse as she turned back around, and reached up as if to fiddle with a necklace while she walked...reaching into the collar of her shirt for the knife tucked securely against her heart.

The bus stop was well it, as she'd promised Mrs. Livingston, but deserted. The man was approaching as she leaned against the back of the bus bench rather than sitting on it. Her knife was tucked into her palm, and her free hand was back in her purse, searching for her phone.

She was being paranoid. The guy wasn't necessarily out to get her. She had no proof...just a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sense of foreboding that made her wonder if Derek could hear her scream this far out, if she could call out the way a wolf could for pack...

I can handle this. I'm not helpless.

She was still trying to talk herself out of using her cell phone, maybe calling Derek or Mrs. Livingston, being safe instead of ready for a change when a hand grabbed her upper arm, dragging her out of the safety of the pool of light around the bus stop.

Allison tried to use the attacker's momentum against him, throwing herself in the direction she was being dragged, hoping to take him to the ground, but instead she found herself slamming hard against the side of the building behind the bus stop, hard enough to knock the wind out of her in a brutal rush. Dizzy with a lack of air, she lost her bearings as she was pressed back against rough stucco, the grit of it digging painfully into her back and her ass through the thin material of her shirt and fashionable skater skirt.

Still seeing stars, Allison clung to her knife as hard as she could, blindly lashing out with one leg to stomp on her attacker's foot, then brought her knee up where she hoped his groin would be. She missed his groin, but only because she nailed his foot, making him double over briefly in pain. As she fought to suck in air, finally getting half a decent breath in, Allison flipped her knife open and lunged, putting all her weight into driving the knife deep into her attacker's belly.

Before she could jerk up and twist for the killing blow, a meaty hand struck her across the face, sending her flying to the side. Dimly, she could now gauge his height at about six foot even, but through the flare of pain against her cheek and jaw that she knew would bruise, and might even lead to a concussion, she couldn't gauge much more than that.

She was on the ground, on her side, struggling for air and fighting the darkness threatening her vision. She couldn't scream, and she wasn't totally sure she could see straight enough to try throwing the one knife she still had.

She had one choice left if she didn't want to get killed, or worse.

Ignoring the fact that her hands were tacky with the blood of her attacker, Allison managed to get her purse strap looped over her head and let it drop, hoping he would be more interested in her money than her as she tried to get to her feet so she could run back towards the lab.

Comments

[prodigaljaybird]

Jason likes explosions. The noise of them, the shock of heat punched through the air. He likes calamity, finds it a fitting companion to the rage inside of him that never quite goes away, but he knows the value of silence, too. As Robin, he'd been bright, colorful and alive, his peals of laughter and yellow cape a counterpoint to the night the Batman drew around him like a cloak, but Jason has his own darkness now. He can be the ticking bomb, or he can be the shadow.

The purse doesn't make it to the attacker's hands.

Jason steps over it, his heavy boots not even a whisper against the pavement, eyes sharp behind his domino mask and red helmet. The man will bleed to death in hours from a wound like that, but Jason doesn't intend to wait that long. He pulls his kris from its sheath, helping the man upright just long enough to pin him to the wall with one hand. He lifts the blade in equal silence, and when he steps away again, the wicked curve of the dagger is just visible where it's buried in the man's shoulder straight through to the brick behind him.

It's the least of what Jason intends for him, but he'll have to keep for now. Satisfied, Jason turns around.

He's not supposed to follow people. Lux beat into his head that it was creepy, stalkery even, she'd said, but that doesn't mean Jason can't look in on people from time to time.

Seeing Allison on the ground, eyes wet and cheek scraped raw to bleeding, Jason's not sorry that he did.

Wordless, he crouches at her side, gloved hands held up in a cautious demand.

Let me help.

[theresalwayshope]

Allison never made it to her feet as the quiet sounds drew her gaze. If nothing else, the diversion of the stranger in the red helmet let her have the precious moments she needed to get her wind back. She watched, wheezing and shifting to a crouch, mindful of her messed up equilibrium, as her attacker was stabbed again, a wicked looking dagger (a kris, gleaming and vicious and gorgeous, the hunter in her can't help but admire it).

The stranger was quiet, silent as he brutally drove his blade into the man that tried to rob her...and worse, tried to make her a victim again.

Her chest hurt from the lack of air. She was dizzy, shaky from losing her wind. Her face burned where she'd been struck, where it rubbed on the pavement when she fell...she would have bruises she'd never be able to hide, and as she swiped a tongue over lower lip, she tasted blood.

The guy took her off guard, made her sloppy, and for that, she hated the man with the kris in his shoulder. He was bleeding, cursing in agony, and she was glad for it.

When the stranger approached, her breath caught, but she didn't shy away from him as he crouched at her side and extended his hand. It was a gesture of peace, of aid, but it wasn't a question. He wasn't checking on her, wasn't asking if she was okay or needed his help. Not with his blade still in the bastard's shoulder...

She was grateful for that. Ridiculously grateful, and that gave her strength.

Regarding the helmeted stranger's silent offer, she tried for a deep breath, felt her lungs finally fill with enough air, and put her hand in his in silent acceptance of his aid.

[prodigaljaybird]

Jason smiles, remembering after that she can't see it, and it's strange to feel so disconnected inside his own helmet. It's as much home to him as the cave had been long ago, but he can't smile at her, in fact, he's not sure he should even speak.

Jason's never lingered long enough around civilians to worry about a voice modulator.

Once he has her upright, Jason cocks his head, studying her pupils, his focus on any immediate sign of concussion to try and stay the roll of fury inside of him. A split lip, a gash on her cheek, her too hard gasps for breath - the wave crests, Jason turns, regarding the man he's left pinned to the wall.

With no more than a flick of his wrist, a batarang is in his hand, its sharp edges glinting in the lamplight.

[theresalwayshope]

Allison kept hold of the stranger's hand as he helped her to her feet, feeling the weight of eyes on her as she got her feet under her, wobbling only an instant before she felt steady enough to stand on her own. Lifting her gaze to the faceless red helmet in front of her, she wasn't sure what to make of it, of him (that body was definitely male)...he was as violent as the man who came after her, he moved like her father, like she did...

Like a werewolf.

The glimmer of a blade caught her attention, and for a moment her focus was drawn by a weapon she had never seen. For one split second, her ragged breath caught and she burned to touch it, to know it, to use it...

The stranger's intent hit her then, distracting her...and she nearly allowed it. It would be so easy to let him, to watch it happen.

But he was human...the guy was human, and she was angry.

Her free hand darted out, curling over his forearm to stop him from using it. With visible reluctance, she shook her head.

She wouldn't lose sleep if her attacker died, but she would if she didn't at least try to make sure he lived long enough to be arrested.

[prodigaljaybird]

His heart is racing, all his focus narrowed to a single point - the frantic jump of the man's pulse in his throat, but her hand stays him. Jason looks back, mouth set in a frustrated line behind his mask.

"Three months," he says, voice ragged with anger in a way it's never been around Allison before. Three months is the maximum this man would serve for assaulting her. Jason looks at the bruises still blooming on her skin and grips his batarang hard enough that were his gloves not batgrade, they'd be sliced clean through.

"The next girl?"

[theresalwayshope]

His voice made Allison shiver, rough and so angry it chilled her to the core. She could see his grip on the blade in his hand, and she couldn't see his face, but she could feel the weight of his fury, almost see eyes bright with it in her imagination...

"If he were anything but what he is, I wouldn't ask you not to kill him." she replied, her own voice sounding strange to her ears after that brief moment of odd, silent accord. She paused, her hand falling away from the stranger's wrist as she faced her attacker.

Still regaining her wind, still bleeding from her lip...still shaking from the sudden loss of adrenaline, she took a step towards him, dimly aware that her Spyderco knife was missing, either lost on the ground or still in his belly.

"If he were an actual monster instead of...this, I'd let you do it. I'd even help...but he's human, and my family has a code."

The shoulder wound was bleeding freely...combined with the belly wound, he was already in trouble. Turning back to the stranger in the red helmet, there was no mercy, no plea in her eyes...only the bitter resignation of duty, and under that, the rawness of fresh fear and shock that she couldn't quite hide in the moment.

"So I have to ask you not to kill him." She spoke as carefully as she could...she wasn't asking him to spare his life, and she wasn't moving against the man who saved her. She was doing no more and no less than her duty...and she wouldn't move to stop him if he made a move on her attacker.

[prodigaljaybird]

"I'm not your family," says Jason quietly, his words not a rebuke, but he can't let this man live. It's the same code he spit in the Batman's face a dozen times, and it rankles. Human or not, this man deserves to die, and if he doesn't, the next blood he spills will be on Jason's hands.

He doesn't do this. He doesn't do mercy.

The memory rises up from somewhere deep, another pair of pleading eyes in another battered face, this voice not speaking but screaming, begging Jason for the life beneath his hands.

That man had deserved to die, too, but he hadn't, because Lux had begged him. Allison isn't begging, but Jason looks down at her and feels his resolve begin to falter.

"I can't let him live," he says, and there's a kind of pleading in it beneath the grit, doubts opening up wider fissures.

Jason looks back at the man. That gut wound will end him sooner rather than later if no one comes for him, and the removal of the blade from his shoulder will bring death swifter still. Jason could wait. He could simply wait and let death come for him.

"But I won't kill him."

[theresalwayshope]

The plea in his voice made her feel strangely guilty, but when he relented, she felt a steely sort of calm. It was no worse now than what she would have done, and she could live with that.

Reaching out, she laid a hand on his arm, giving it a firm squeeze, hoping the stranger understood her gratitude...for staying his hand, and for helping her. She could feel the numbness of shock just starting to wear off, and her fingers shook just a little as they slipped away from his arm.

Turning away from her rescuer, she composed herself as she moved towards the man still bleeding out, pinned into place by her savior's kris. Within a foot of the man, she could see her blade still buried in his belly.

"That's a beautiful kris." She complimented the stranger. It was true, and that small part of her was still covetous of the blade in his hand, but it also have her something else to focus on instead of what had nearly happened because she let herself get complacent.

Planting a hand on her attacker's shoulder, right at the base of where the kris stuck out of his body, she grabbed her knife and yanked it out of his belly. She stepped away just a little too fast when it came free, moving back towards the stranger and facing away from the man pinned to the wall.

She paused by his side, focusing on her knife with a frown at the blood staining her blade.

"This is going to be hell to clean." She complained quietly, glancing up at him pointedly. "This is going to take me a minute to wipe down while you...get yours."

[prodigaljaybird]

Jason exhales.

Perhaps it's not agreement, but it is permission, or near enough, and Jason doesn't need to be told twice. He looks to the kris. If he pulls it out, the man will bleed to death in minutes flat.

"It was a gift," he murmurs, and moves forward, ears closed to the pleas that grow louder with every step. The kris is well maintained, sharp enough to cut the hairs on Jason's arms, and could pull free without resistance.

Jason twists it on the way out.

At his back, the man crumples and begins to scream, and all at once, Jason can't take it. He could do this until dawn and has, but he can't stand for her to hear it.

"I'm sorry," he says for the sudden invasion, but it doesn't stop him when he wraps an arm around Allison's waist, the other lifted to fire a batline high overhead. They fly swiftly upward, and when they reach the roof Jason lets go, slowing their descent with a graceful flip before he sets Allison's feet carefully on the ground.

"Sorry," he says again.

[theresalwayshope]

Allison gasped, reflexively clutching at the stranger as he swept in and swept her up with some kind of grappling device. Exhilaration made her breathless and a little dizzy again as they soared up, leaving her holding onto his shoulders as they touched down on a rooftop.

There was something about the way he spoke...that last utterance of an apology...she didn't know what it was, but it made her feel oddly safe.

Slowly, she lowered her hands, her knife still clutched in one, the other resting limply against the front of his leather jacket, right over his chest. Already, the man below was forgotten, his screams white noise in her memory...filed away with Erica's piercing cries and pleading, hidden in the dark where Vernon Boyd fell to his knees, body riddled with her arrows as she stood over him, the Huntress Victorious.

"Don't apologize, I'm...the one whose sorry." she replied, proud that her voice was so steady, even if she had to swallow once to keep it working. Her hands were shaking harder now, so she let them fall away and focused, carefully and deliberately, on closing her knife. It was still covered in blood, but she could clean it later, when she wasn't in danger of cutting herself.

"I shouldn't have asked, but I had to." she went on, fumbling from the combination of blood on her hands, blood on the blade, and the shaking that came in the aftermath of shock. "Keeping to the Code, it's...it's important..."

Her voice caught then, forcing her to stop what she was doing, to shut her eyes and take a deep breath. For an instant, her features twisted as she fought the urge to break, to shatter, to feel because falling apart wasn't an option.

Thread the needle, Allison. You can have a fit at home, but for now, you have a job to do: get through this. You already screwed up enough for one evening.

Composing herself, she opened her eyes, gave up on her outfit, and with a shaky sigh wiped her hands on her skirt, then wiped the blade of her knife before she finally snapped it closed. For a moment, she stared at her hands, clasped around the folding combat knife, clutching it like a lifeline, then looked up at the helmeted stranger again. For a moment, she wanted to rip the damn thing right off his head, wanted to see the face of her rescuer to properly thank him, apologize to him...

"He never should have gotten the jump on me." she admitted aloud. "That was my mistake, letting my guard down...I'm grateful for what you just did. And I'm sorry you had to do it. I should've been ready."

[prodigaljaybird]

"You should be able to walk down the street without having to be ready to be assaulted," Jason counters, his gaze dropped behind his mask to her shaking hands.

"You should go to a clinic," he adds, even as his fingers move over a gauntlet, extracting a tiny pack that expands and reveals itself to be an instant cold compress. Jason makes an abortive movement towards her cheek before he presses it to her hand, instead.

"I can call - " he says, stopping himself before he mentions her pack. "Somebody. If you want."

[theresalwayshope]

Allison reached out tentatively for the pack the stranger handed her, surprised to find it cold...some kind of compact icepack. Offering him a tiny smile of gratitude, she brought it carefully to her cheek, the cool touch soothing the burn of raw skin.

His offer made her shake her head instantly. "I don't have a concussion, I haven't been dizzy since I got my breath back...and I don't want anyone to know about this tonight." She could already feel the pain of her injuries: her face would be badly bruised by morning, and her cheek, her lip...concealer wouldn't hide the cuts.

She would have to deal with their worry in the morning, but she didn't want them, her friends or her pack, coming to her rescue...she shouldn't have needed rescuing.

Still trembling, she moved towards the edge of the roof, staring down from the direction they'd come. She couldn't see, not at this angle, but she wondered if the man was still down there, or if the corpse had finally gone still.

She was a little scared that she didn't care if he was dead, but not much.

Turning away from the edge of the roof, she shifted the pack against her cheek as she faced the stranger again, she touched her cheek with a wince, checking for blood. It was raw and tacky, but not bleeding like her lip, touching her tongue with the occasional fresh flood of coppery sweetness. The cheek might be fine, but her lip was probably going to scar, at least a little. Irrationally, she thought of Jason and his scar, that slim shock of white hair...those girls that had mocked him for it...

"You know, maybe it makes me a monster...but if that guy down there had been a girl I caught sight of recently? I'd have let you kill her." she half joked, laughing quietly, a little too hard...just the wrong side of hysterical. Taking another deep breath, she pressed the cold pack to her cheek a little more firmly, relishing the sting and lowering her gaze.

"I'm usually ready for this kind of stuff...for worse. Monsters, killers...family." she admitted. "You know my own grandfather tried to kill me once? After I maimed and hunted for him. It took a giant lizard with paralyzing venom to stop me...and tonight, a mugger could have killed me if you hadn't come along."