❝ Take a chance we can dance up in mid-air,
Feel so good, I could die, but I don't care
Walk slow and low on a tightrope
Hope it lasts but you know, you never know ❞
YOUNG JUSTICE
cover design by @dowofficial and @preallens
22:29 EDT FEBRUARY 13, 2016 DOWNTOWN, WASHINGTON, D.C.
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The building manager eyed Quinn-Rose as she passed on the way up the stairs. They seemed to go on forever, but she hardly noticed, caught in a web of thoughts inside her mind. The events of the night were at the centre of the storm, taking front and centre in the pageant of anger, guilt and regret. All her brother had to do was say yes, and she would try to help him again. One simple word and he couldn't even deign to respond, the bastard. She flung open the door to her landing and traipsed down the hall. The reaction Ollie and Dinah had to finding out about her solo vigilantism was less than she'd been hoping for. All the words they didn't say were louder than the ones they did. Quinn-Rose jammed the key into the lock of the safe-house's door. And Dick... Him being there was difficult enough for her, and after so long it was getting harder and harder to try and make things right. She was a coward, a ridiculous, pathetic, coward.
At the sight of the figure in the main room, Quinn-Rose immediately freed the Bowie knife and the dagger from her boots and levelled them at the stranger before she realised who it was.
"You're easy to follow for someone so hard to track down."
"Oh, piss off, Grayson." The brunette slammed both knives down on the weapon-laden table between them and threw her coat onto a chair. Dick, who'd been standing creepily in front of the window most likely intending to scare her in the darkness of the room, flicked on a lamp by the wall. It illuminated him in shadowy, yellow light, washing over the barely familiar suit. Admittedly it was an improvement on the Robin outfit. More of Dick's own design, rather than a decision made for him. Definitely... tighter than the Robin suit. The only thing that remained the same was the infuriating domino mask.
"You can take this," she waved a hand over her eyes, "off, y'know. I can't learn your identity twice." A small smile appeared on his face as he tilted his head and removed the mask, revealing the blue eyes it had been hiding. They looked at each other for a moment, time nearly stopping as emotions and memories played out in the space between them.
Quinn-Rose shook her head, breaking eye contact, and walked over to a small cupboard against the wall. From it, she drew a tumbler and a stout bottle filled with orange liquid. A moment later she was back at the table, a measure of the liquid in her glass. She watched Dick's eyes trace the movement, waiting for an inevitable criticism.
"Unless you're somehow two years older than me now, that's illegal."
"Good fake ID," was her only response. Quinn-Rose slid a hand in her back pocket and tossed it to him. He caught it deftly and inspected it with a detective's eye.
"According to this, your name is Megan West."
"Draw from reality, ammirite?" The acrobat shrugged and approached the table to drop the card on it. Silence filled the room once more as Quinn-Rose took a sip of the drink. It tasted awful and burned like a bitch going down, but it eased her swirling head slightly.
"Nice arsenal you got here," Dick commented as he surveyed the equipment laid out before him: knives, daggers, various devices and bottles he probably shouldn't touch, not to mention a long, metal staff and a utility belt she was repairing. Quinn-Rose would bet on her life he was inconspicuously looking for her bow, the weapon he assumed she was most dangerous with. A lot had changed in two years.
"Mmh," she agreed. Would he ever get to the point of why he'd followed her in the first place? Quinn-Rose had to concede that she hadn't noticed she was being followed, too wrapped up in herself. That was what she got for being self-centred.
Dick looked up at her and noticed her gaze.
"Oh, right." He straightened up. "When I called you and asked you to come here for Roy's intervention, I had another reason too." He watched her earnestly, in a way that made the rhythm of her heart begin to uptick, but what he said had reminded her of something she was extraordinarily pissed about.
"I can't believe you hacked my phone. That's shady stuff." Two weeks ago, he'd actually managed to track her down. It was the first contact she'd had with anyone from her years as White Valkyrie and it just so happened to be Dick, the person who she had attacked with the most pain and rage out of all, physically included. It was safe to say Quinn-Rose handled the situation abysmally: with panic and overwhelming guilt, which came out as a mess that probably looked like an angry, nihilistic episode. And while he was there, without her knowledge, he hacked her phone and stole her number, with which he used to call her thirteen days later.
Dick was a bit taken aback at first, but indignantly replied, "God, Val, it's not like I'm a stalker." It was Quinn-Rose's turn to be taken aback, but she supposed the old nickname remained applicable with the shortening of her moniker.
"I don't think the police will believe you."
"Please," he said, "you wouldn't go to the police over one little phone number."
"Try me, Grayson." It appeared they were at an impasse. Dick walked around the table and took the glass right out of her hand. One look silenced the protest on her lips as he smelled it carefully.
"Then I might tell them that a nineteen-year old is drinking cheap whiskey in a shoddy, questionably obtained apartment, with a stack of unlicensed weapons lying around." Dick handed the glass back to her with a knowing smile and waited for her to surrender. The cheek of it was on a whole new level, but to be fair, most of what she did these days was illegal. And Quinn-Rose wasn't really going to go to the police, though she knew he knew that. Clearly her muteness was answer enough, as Dick grinned.
"Stop looking so smug," Quinn-Rose rolled her eyes, taking another sip. "So? What was this other reason for violating my privacy and compromising the security of my safe-house?" His grin faded slowly, and a somber expression replaced it.
"Stay."
Quinn-Rose stopped functioning for a moment. She just stared at him blankly, fingers curling around the tumbler so tightly her knuckles turned white. What exactly was he asking? For her to stay and join the team again? To stick around and help out a little? Stay a short time or for the indefinite future? Anyone else, anyone else, and she would have refused outright. She wanted to say no. She should say no. There was no way she was ready to come back, and she didn't know if she ever would be.
"...Why, Dick?" He took a step towards her, probably surprised and encouraged by the deliberation in her voice.
"Something big is starting, and I think we'll really need you. You're more experienced that most of us and— we just need you." So it was a team thing. They could do just fine without her. It wasn't like Quinn-Rose was anything special. She couldn't punch through walls like Conner or rip apart minds like M'gann, she couldn't even look at a bow anymore without awful memories surfacing, without being put out of action. She wouldn't be able to look at half of the team in the eye. "I need you. To come help the team. Just stay, Val."
