(Dc Jason Todd) Wrong Number

Hey

Milou.

I caught myself looking at first photo's she'd sent me. The one with the gash in her hair line, her eye in the bottom left corner. I don't think she noticed how clear of a picture she'd taken. Because her eye was catching the light from the window beside her. I could see how bright her green eyes were in that light. Some spots more bright than others. But that happened with some victims of Crane's fear toxin. Rare, but considering how much she may have had injected into her.

I didn't want to admit it but I back checked her. I had to know who I was talking to. That's when I found out how much of a bad ass this girl was. No picture to go with her record which was common for task force workers. And especially common for high ranking officers. She was a Master Sergeant. Almost a Lieutenant. Paramedic with a lot of talent. Good with guns, high marks in all categories. She was a protege, if I'd seen this in any other context I would've thought that'd she'd be trouble.

But now she was a bike messenger. A medic at a fight club. Paying rent on a shit apartment. Probably still reaping the benefits from the force. But she was probably also battling the punishments too. Immune or not from that toxin, it has physical effects too. Statistically, only one in a couple thousand have a natural immunity to the toxin. Crane's always been interested in them. So to find a task force worker with that attribute. Well he'd be more excited about that then a kid getting a puppy on Christmas.

Despite trying to get away from it, she of course felt that need for a rush. But there was also that instinct to do the right thing.

She was a different type of person. A strong one. But she was completely alone save one or two people she happened to know. I didn't know if I could count myself as one of them. I didn't know why I even continued to keep in contact with her. But her quirks were nice and her jokes were decent. Better than Roy's trust me. I wasn't sure what kept me coming back. But there was something familiar about her, and something that said home.

The way she sent pictures of Gotham. She caught a lot of feeling in them. I hated Gotham because of things that had happened there. But I would still love it in a different way. I first felt that nostalgia feeling like a slap in the face when she went to the small restaurant I'd told her to go to. It was small, cramped even. Way too hot during the summer days. But in the cool evenings it was calming, and in the cold winter it was warm. When I was scrounging on the streets and had enough money to treat myself. I'd go there. Because it was warm, and open all day and all night. They let me sleep in a booth as long as I bought something to eat.

But no in between. Either kindness I felt like I'd never be able to repay, or cruelty that was in every way unwarranted. The owner started putting rat poison in the garbage. I got sick from that. But the last time I went back the owner's wife gave me one of those knowing smiles. Served me herself and made kind small talk with me.

Milou's photos reminded me of that. And at one point I looked at one closely and smiled.

Me
-would you look at that, you got my old friend in the photo.-

Milou
-??? There are just building's in this pic j???-

Me
-and?-

Milou
-you?-

Milou
-are you talking about the gargoyles?-

Me
-yup-

Milou
-which one?-