Ghostwriter

Chapter 32

Jason slumps against the wall as Alfred stitches a sleeping Antigone up. An empty plate, crumbs scattered across white glass, sits on the bedside table.

He's wearing civies now, no mask. Alfred gets fussy when work clothes come above the cave. Antigone's been given a pair of pajamas that Jason suspects belong to Selina.

Leslie came earlier. Antigone's wrist had to be rebroken because it started healing incorrectly, and now it's in a cast. Third degree burns cover Antigone's feet, and she'll need to go to a burn center to be treated. There will be permanent scarring; the discolored marks on her feet will always bear witness to what happened. Other than that, everything will heal. She'll be physically fine.

His shoulder will be fine. The bullets rest with the running family collection that Dick started in his Robin days. His shoulder is wrapped, and he's supposed to rest it, but screw that. The pit didn't give him advanced healing for nothing.

Batman broods down in the cave. Red Robin scours the city for Colton.

The fact that they left him just served as a painful reminder to Jason that 'justice' would always be prioritized over family.

Barbara told him it was because they trusted him to get the job done. That they didn't know how many were there.

He said some not nice things back.

The one time he actually wants their help, they bail. Then they had the gall to berate him for doing things his way.

Typical.

Alfred stands up straight. "I do believe she's done. If you plan to keep vigilance, would you like me to pull up a chair?"

"I'm good." He drags up his own chair. Antigone's chest rises and falls with every breath. Her face is a far cry from the terror he saw her wearing earlier that night.

Alfred lays a hand on his shoulder. "She's a lucky woman."

"She nearly died."

Alfred pulls the covers up to her chin. "But she didn't, thanks to a certain gun-toting, red-clad vigilante."

"Same one who nearly got her killed in the first place." He shouldn't have told her to run off into the woods. What was he thinking?

"We all make mistakes, Master Jason. It is how we rise above them that matters." Sounds like Alfred.

Jason huffs. "I can't make anymore. Not with her."

"You will. So will she. It's human nature. You must learn to forgive yourself and her if you want your relationship to last." Alfred takes his hand away and glides to the door. "You know where to find me should you require anything."

Jason nods and takes out Antigone's hand from under the covers. He runs his rough thumb over the soft pad of her palm. He plays with her hand, weaving his fingers into his and bringing up the knuckles to his lips to peck.

Ever since they got out of that cesspool, he's been craving to touch her. The feel of her skin on his quelled the still simmering fear of her wellbeing, as well as the bubbling night-terror of possibly never getting to do all the things he wanted to with her. The fear of coffins, funerals, and generic apologies; the fear of no more late-night conversations, no more laughter, no more teasing; the fear of no dates, no kisses, no love shared: they all chilled him to the bone.

Now, with her hand in his, his shoulders relax and his breathing slows. Safe and sound. She's safe and sound. Alive. All the possibilities of what is to come remain endless and within reach.