Working With Red

Dysfunctional Trio and Dangerous Traction

You were sitting hunched over on the edge of your mattress, staring down at the palms of your hands resting in your lap. Stray droplets from the strands of wet hair splayed over your shoulders dripped onto your skin, creating tiny puddles that quickly drained through the spaces between your fingers before soaking into the legs of your sweatpants. 

The air filling the cinderblock room was cold and uninviting in strong contrast to the hot shower you'd just left, and while you very well could have slipped on the sweatshirt hanging in your wardrobe, you didn't feel like moving. You wouldn't have been able to put it on, anyway; not with the near-inability to lift your arm. 

While your hands had already returned to their normal (S/C) tone, your focus was set on the capillaries buried under the lines in your palm, tainted by the green blood swimming within them. 

You weren't quite sure why you felt so numb and overstimulated at the same time. 

Your shower may have helped curb your stress and muddle your panic, but you had yet to forgive Roy for exposing you so casually. 

Your fingers twitched at the thought, and you slowly curled your hands into fists with a deep breath. 

It was dangerous, careless, irresponsible... And you felt so vulnerable. Not only had he risked leaking your identity to a group of people already suspicious of your role in the investigation, but he'd completely exposed you to Nightwing. That thought, alone, had your heart sinking into the deepest pit of your stomach. His distrust wasn't worth the elaborate excuse to put the Marines off your trail. 

Your head lifted at the sound of the doorknob rattling, and the silhouette that appeared in the open doorway sent a wave of goosebumps rippling across your skin. He paused just inside the room, shutting the door behind him, and when he pulled the mask from his eyes with a sigh, you looked away. 

"Are you really that mad--?" 

"Don't." Your eyes fluttered shut. "Don't do that...that passive aggressive thing you do." His boots padded across the floor until he was standing directly in front of you, and you only opened your eyes again when you felt his fingers unexpectedly encompass your wrists. You pulled them away, wincing at the pain that shot across your neck and into your shoulder. 

You finally looked up at the redhead, and when the two of you made eye contact, he took a seat on the bed across from you, propping his elbows up onto his knees. He waited for you to speak first, allowing a minute of silence, and then two, then five to pass between you. 

"I..." you finally mumbled, shaking your head. You shivered again as your wet hair brushed your bare arms. "Roy, I was already panicking about getting hurt and the transformation, and then you go and out me like that? What about Nightwing? There's no way he doesn't know what's really going on, and we were supposed to keep it a secret. What the hell were you thinking? What if he tells Batman?" 

Roy studied your face for a moment before pressing his lips together tightly. Then, "What else was I supposed to do, (Y/N)? You were way too exposed. There was no way you were getting out of there without getting caught. Forget Nightwing for a second; how were you planning to explain yourself to a room full of Marines who already don't like the idea of unfamiliar non-metahumans in their territory?" 

You buried your face in your hand with a groan. "I don't know... Maybe I could have--" 

"I told you training in public was a bad idea," he interrupted, clicking his tongue dismissively. You weren't sure if he was trying to be condescending or teasing, but it irked you. "You should have been more careful. Training alone would have been a safer bet."