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She shows up when he’s in the middle of a fight. He’s outnumbered, cornered, and barely dodging enemy fire when she slips out of nowhere and lands a hit directly on a man about to blow his head off. Roy hears the solid thump of his body as he falls. He doesn’t turn to check if he’s dead.
Jade – Cheshire twirls a sai in each hand, and he’s almost sure she’s smirking behind the mask. He’s not sure why she’s here, but he scowls anyway.
Before he can ask her what she’s up to, she raises a finger, and tosses an expertly aimed projectile past his shoulder, taking out another lackey.
“Don’t waste words, Red,” she says. “Let’s just get out of here.”
She’s right, which he frowns at; whatever purpose she has can wait until they’re both out of the line of fire.
The fight is swift and fast, and they take out most of the rogues, but not enough – Jade catches a stray bullet to her leg, red staining the fabric through, and she grunts in pain, buckling. Still, they manage to make their escape, Roy throwing Jade over his shoulder as he zips them away. Jade lets him, but once they’re a good distance away, she puts a fist to his shoulder.
“Put me down.”
It’s an order, and he obeys. She feels frail as he sets her down on a rooftop, legs unsteady. The blood has spread, and it drips down her leg in a long, dark river. Her breathing is laboured.
“So,” he says, “What was that about?”
She steps back, pulling up straight to look steadier than she is. “Don’t think about it too hard, Red. I was just passing by. Decided to try playing the hero for once. Clearly, it was a miscalculation.”
“You expect me to believe you just happened to be passing by and swooped in to help me out of the good of your heart.”
“Like I said, don’t think about it too hard, Red. Wouldn’t want that pretty face of yours to get all – sour.” She cuts off, her forced nonchalance broken with a grunt of pain. Her voice is thick and uneven with effort.
This is the part where she leaves. He knows their game well enough to realise that much. She doesn’t like people seeing her in pain, doesn’t like the vulnerability. She keeps all her softness hidden deep down. In that sense, this is already a breach of her privacy.
“Wait,” he says. The word spills out on its own, forcing its way past his lips, and immediately he knows he’s crossed a line. Still, he doesn’t stop. “You’re hurt. You can’t leave like this.”
Her shoulders hunch in on herself. Protective, defensive. “Ordering me around now, are you?”
He pauses, and considers his options. He can’t take her back to his place. He shouldn’t. There are a million reasons not to. It’s dangerous, it’s stupid, it’s ridiculous. It’s not just a bad idea, it’s probably the worst he’s ever had. The words slide out.
“Come back to my place.” Then, “I owe you.”
She stiffens at that. He waits, patient, and when she cocks her head at him he knows it’s agreement.
“Alright,” she says, slowly, the words heavy and foreign. “Just this once, then. I’ll play along.”
-
Only when they’re alone, Jade sitting with her injured leg up and bleeding all over his couch, does she finally take off the mask.
He prepares his first aid kid and antiseptic to clean the wound, and fresh, warm water to wash the blood away. She throws back the painkillers he leaves on the desk in one gulp.
“I can do it,” she says, when he snaps the kit open, immediately grabbing for it, but he pulls away. “I know,” he replies, picking up a line of thread.
Her eyebrows draw, hesitant. “I’m not going to kill you,” he adds, sarcastically.
“Is that meant to be reassuring?”
He ignores her, and focuses on stitching up the wound. It’s a deep gash, but the bullet isn’t embedded, which makes things easier. He keeps his hands steady as he cleanses the blood away, pausing when he notices her tensing in pain as he presses a little too hard. He works quickly, trying to keep his touches light.
There’s an uncomfortable intimacy to this – the sounds of their breathing in the silence, his hands on her bare skin, bloodied and gentle, as he slowly puts her back together in the low glow of a lamp – that he doesn’t know how to voice. That he isn’t sure if he wants to, or can.
He doesn’t want this to become something it’s not.
“Done,” he says, and pulls away. He doesn’t meet her eyes.
There’s silence, then a rustle of fabric as Jade readjusts her clothing, fitting it back over her thigh. Even with the wound cleaned, the clothes reek of blood. It overpowers the faint scent of jasmine she always carries, and it’s a sickly, cloying mix.
“Thanks,” she says quietly, and it’s hesitant. As if they are new words to her, unwrapping themselves for the first time on her lips.
There is a long pause before she finally stands, slips her mask over her face and slides open his window. The night breeze rushes through her hair, and the cold is sharp and bright.
He blinks, and she is gone.