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thejusticelounge2013-07-04 02:58 pm
bossymarmalade) wrote in thejusticelounge2013-07-04 02:58 pm
Entry tags:
the telephone is ringin
His voice is wet, something rustling against the receiver (his hand, the sleeve pushing against the mic).
“Dick?” He whispers, almost afraid.
Dick had just come off paid patrol when Roy called, stopping awkwardly in the stairwell of his apartment. ”Yeah? Need me to hop on a Zeta pad and get to wherever you are?
Roy’s huffing laugh is rough and hard around the edges when it puffs into the phone.
"Nah, man, just need to—" A wet swallow. “Just need to hear your voice, yanno?"
There’s a pause, and then something, a noise, something like a whistle as Roy pushes out: “They’re no fuckin’ meetings until tomorrow, and I just—Ollie, he—"
A muffled noise, wet and harsh.
"I want to punch his fuckin’ face in," he laughs, then sobs, and then laughs again. “Like I’m a fuckin’ kid again!"
It took Dick only a split second to clarify “meetings", but once his brain caught up, he nodded, settling on the stairs to talk. "I’m here, Roy. I’ll talk as long as you need me. What happened?"
Another sniffled noise, the sound of cabinet doors shutting with a hollowed thump: his head. He bangs it against the cabinets again, harder still, and speaks.
“He started talkin’ ‘bout.. mothers, and fuckin’.. Kate,” Roy says the name like he might a word in a new language he’s learning, one he isn’t fluent in, “And I told him he should’ve had a fuckin’ wedding, that I would’ve come and he.. fuckin’ went off on me. Zero to six hundred in two fuckin’ texts, man.”
"Aww, Roy," Dick cooed, his default sound for comforting when he was still thinking up something useful to say. Devil’s advocate wasn’t needed right now. He could talk to Ollie later and find out what happened, but for now, Roy just needed his friend, someone he could vent to, someone who’d listen.
"Yeah, that’s…I mean, we were all surprised when they just left and suddenly came back married." He worried his lip. "Why’d he bring up mothers?"
Another slam of his head into the cabinet and a low groan: “How the fuck should I know what’s rollin’ around in that fucked up head of his, Dick?”
Slam. Slam. Slam.
He huffs out an exhalation.
“He said I was a shitty parent.” There is no anger in his voice, he only sounds hollow, because he believes it. Staring across the distance of the tiny kitchen, he murmurs, too low for Dick to hear. “And comin’ from him..”
Dick winced at every slam, wishing he was there for nothing else than to give Roy a target other than himself. Sparring had always seemed to help Roy.
"You’re not," he said almost automatically. "I mean it. Yeah, you’ve made mistakes and you’re… But you try, Roy. That’s more than can be said for a lot of people. And Lian’s a good kid. All she needs is for you to be around a little more." He hesitated just a breath before trying, “And you will be around more, now, right?"
The slamming stops, abruptly.
"I.. She.. doesn’t want to live with me anymore," Roy says, quietly his tone almost wistful. “She wants to stay with him."
Dick curled up on the stairs, waiting until a neighbor passed by and onto the landing before replying. "Kids are temperamental, Roy. I know that’s probably not much comfort, but it’s true. I mean, all the times Damian’s threatened to run away, to never speak to me again, to…" He shook his head and leaned against the wall. "I think she just wants you all to be together."
Roy slammed his head against the cabinets again, hard enough to leave an array of stars before groaning: “I just.. need you to say he’s a fuckin’ asshole, Dick!” He isn’t angry, but there’s a high, trembling note in his voice that is threatening to crack when he raises his voice. He takes a few, level breaths, and shuts his eyes.
“You remember, back in the day.. When they were both insufferable pricks, basket cases.. the both of ‘em… and we had all the answers?” His lips quirk, a short snuffled laugh.
Dick leaned back against the wall and chuckled. "We were totally right, though. They’re both assholes. Must be the lonely rich boy thing."
He hummed and shut his eyes. "I don’t know what it is about us, man, but we know just how to bring it out of them, don’t we? Our secret superpowers."
“Yeah,” Roy hummed, “yeah.”
He’s silent for a long while, no longer slamming his head but breathing, evenly. Speaking low, barely audible, he mumbles. “Sometimes, I wonder about the person who wrote the script for my iife, Dick.”
He murmurs. “I’ve even got my own wicked stepmother.”
Abruptly, he changes subjects: “Did I catch you at a bad time, man?”
Dick made a small cooing noise, but let the ‘wicked stepmother’ comment pass. Ollie and Kate could handle that when it came. "Nah, just got off work. I’m just hanging out in the stairwell, which is surprisingly comfy, by the way."
His anger has dissipated by the time Dick speaks again, and as he rises off the floor, no longer needing the cabinet, Roy Harper counts himself as one lucky sonuvabitch that, despite all the fuckups and things said, he still can call Richard John Grayson his friend.
He thinks this, allowing the warmth of it replace the steady thrum of his rage in his blood. All of it, their shared history, settles on his mind, like an arm around his shoulders, and he smiles at nothing. Despite this, despite it all, what comes out of his mouth next has nothing to do with anything.
"Bette waitin’ up for you?" One can almost see the crooked smirk on his face, through the words alone.
Dick laughed lyrically, stretching back on the stairs. ”Probably, but I’m sure she’s not worried. Heck, she’d probably like to talk to you if you’re up to it.” He smiled. ”But it doesn’t have to be now. Now can just be you an’ me, pal.”
Shifting outside of his trailer, his shoes off, Roy stepped down and onto the landing for the stairs, not minding to shut the door—Ollie’s always hollered at him for that, since he was the one that got the biting end of whatever bugs Roy’d let in—behind him as she stepped out, onto the gravel that began his driveway. It was still hot, under his feet, but Roy paid it no mind.
"I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing," he said, bluntly.
Dick nodded, rocking back and forth on the stairs. ”What do you want to be doing? Maybe that’ll help with what you are doing.”
He paused. Tilted his head to the side. “I want to be reading to Lian.” He huffed a breath, quietly. “I want to be in the car riding around Star City with you in tow.” He looks up at the sky, his voice dropping. “I don’t know. I just want to do right by her, you know? Make things the best they can possibly be..”
Dick smiled at the images, humming a little tune before responding. ”The best thing for her would be for you to just be around. She really misses you. So do I.”
He continued to walk, past the gravel and into the cool of the sand. He’s quiet for a while, the wind picking up and blowing against the receiver.
"Miss you too, birdbrain." He took a breath, exhaled messily. “Gonna let you go, though. If you’ve got a bed of Bette waitin’, ain’t fair of me to hold you back." He grins.
Dick laughed. ”A bed of Bette. What a beautiful thing to come back to.” He smiled. ”I mean it, Roy. You’re welcome to come by anytime you’re in town, OK?”
"Yeah." He said, when Dick was finished, his tone as noncommittal as he could make it. “Have a good night, Dick. Thanks for.. being you." He hung up the phone, and stared at it for a good long moment, before he brought his text messages up and stared at the unsent drafts, all addressed to ‘Dad.’
He deleted them, one by one, toes curling and uncurling against the sand.
“Dick?” He whispers, almost afraid.
Dick had just come off paid patrol when Roy called, stopping awkwardly in the stairwell of his apartment. ”Yeah? Need me to hop on a Zeta pad and get to wherever you are?
Roy’s huffing laugh is rough and hard around the edges when it puffs into the phone.
"Nah, man, just need to—" A wet swallow. “Just need to hear your voice, yanno?"
There’s a pause, and then something, a noise, something like a whistle as Roy pushes out: “They’re no fuckin’ meetings until tomorrow, and I just—Ollie, he—"
A muffled noise, wet and harsh.
"I want to punch his fuckin’ face in," he laughs, then sobs, and then laughs again. “Like I’m a fuckin’ kid again!"
It took Dick only a split second to clarify “meetings", but once his brain caught up, he nodded, settling on the stairs to talk. "I’m here, Roy. I’ll talk as long as you need me. What happened?"
Another sniffled noise, the sound of cabinet doors shutting with a hollowed thump: his head. He bangs it against the cabinets again, harder still, and speaks.
“He started talkin’ ‘bout.. mothers, and fuckin’.. Kate,” Roy says the name like he might a word in a new language he’s learning, one he isn’t fluent in, “And I told him he should’ve had a fuckin’ wedding, that I would’ve come and he.. fuckin’ went off on me. Zero to six hundred in two fuckin’ texts, man.”
"Aww, Roy," Dick cooed, his default sound for comforting when he was still thinking up something useful to say. Devil’s advocate wasn’t needed right now. He could talk to Ollie later and find out what happened, but for now, Roy just needed his friend, someone he could vent to, someone who’d listen.
"Yeah, that’s…I mean, we were all surprised when they just left and suddenly came back married." He worried his lip. "Why’d he bring up mothers?"
Another slam of his head into the cabinet and a low groan: “How the fuck should I know what’s rollin’ around in that fucked up head of his, Dick?”
Slam. Slam. Slam.
He huffs out an exhalation.
“He said I was a shitty parent.” There is no anger in his voice, he only sounds hollow, because he believes it. Staring across the distance of the tiny kitchen, he murmurs, too low for Dick to hear. “And comin’ from him..”
Dick winced at every slam, wishing he was there for nothing else than to give Roy a target other than himself. Sparring had always seemed to help Roy.
"You’re not," he said almost automatically. "I mean it. Yeah, you’ve made mistakes and you’re… But you try, Roy. That’s more than can be said for a lot of people. And Lian’s a good kid. All she needs is for you to be around a little more." He hesitated just a breath before trying, “And you will be around more, now, right?"
The slamming stops, abruptly.
"I.. She.. doesn’t want to live with me anymore," Roy says, quietly his tone almost wistful. “She wants to stay with him."
Dick curled up on the stairs, waiting until a neighbor passed by and onto the landing before replying. "Kids are temperamental, Roy. I know that’s probably not much comfort, but it’s true. I mean, all the times Damian’s threatened to run away, to never speak to me again, to…" He shook his head and leaned against the wall. "I think she just wants you all to be together."
Roy slammed his head against the cabinets again, hard enough to leave an array of stars before groaning: “I just.. need you to say he’s a fuckin’ asshole, Dick!” He isn’t angry, but there’s a high, trembling note in his voice that is threatening to crack when he raises his voice. He takes a few, level breaths, and shuts his eyes.
“You remember, back in the day.. When they were both insufferable pricks, basket cases.. the both of ‘em… and we had all the answers?” His lips quirk, a short snuffled laugh.
Dick leaned back against the wall and chuckled. "We were totally right, though. They’re both assholes. Must be the lonely rich boy thing."
He hummed and shut his eyes. "I don’t know what it is about us, man, but we know just how to bring it out of them, don’t we? Our secret superpowers."
“Yeah,” Roy hummed, “yeah.”
He’s silent for a long while, no longer slamming his head but breathing, evenly. Speaking low, barely audible, he mumbles. “Sometimes, I wonder about the person who wrote the script for my iife, Dick.”
He murmurs. “I’ve even got my own wicked stepmother.”
Abruptly, he changes subjects: “Did I catch you at a bad time, man?”
Dick made a small cooing noise, but let the ‘wicked stepmother’ comment pass. Ollie and Kate could handle that when it came. "Nah, just got off work. I’m just hanging out in the stairwell, which is surprisingly comfy, by the way."
His anger has dissipated by the time Dick speaks again, and as he rises off the floor, no longer needing the cabinet, Roy Harper counts himself as one lucky sonuvabitch that, despite all the fuckups and things said, he still can call Richard John Grayson his friend.
He thinks this, allowing the warmth of it replace the steady thrum of his rage in his blood. All of it, their shared history, settles on his mind, like an arm around his shoulders, and he smiles at nothing. Despite this, despite it all, what comes out of his mouth next has nothing to do with anything.
"Bette waitin’ up for you?" One can almost see the crooked smirk on his face, through the words alone.
Dick laughed lyrically, stretching back on the stairs. ”Probably, but I’m sure she’s not worried. Heck, she’d probably like to talk to you if you’re up to it.” He smiled. ”But it doesn’t have to be now. Now can just be you an’ me, pal.”
Shifting outside of his trailer, his shoes off, Roy stepped down and onto the landing for the stairs, not minding to shut the door—Ollie’s always hollered at him for that, since he was the one that got the biting end of whatever bugs Roy’d let in—behind him as she stepped out, onto the gravel that began his driveway. It was still hot, under his feet, but Roy paid it no mind.
"I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing," he said, bluntly.
Dick nodded, rocking back and forth on the stairs. ”What do you want to be doing? Maybe that’ll help with what you are doing.”
He paused. Tilted his head to the side. “I want to be reading to Lian.” He huffed a breath, quietly. “I want to be in the car riding around Star City with you in tow.” He looks up at the sky, his voice dropping. “I don’t know. I just want to do right by her, you know? Make things the best they can possibly be..”
Dick smiled at the images, humming a little tune before responding. ”The best thing for her would be for you to just be around. She really misses you. So do I.”
He continued to walk, past the gravel and into the cool of the sand. He’s quiet for a while, the wind picking up and blowing against the receiver.
"Miss you too, birdbrain." He took a breath, exhaled messily. “Gonna let you go, though. If you’ve got a bed of Bette waitin’, ain’t fair of me to hold you back." He grins.
Dick laughed. ”A bed of Bette. What a beautiful thing to come back to.” He smiled. ”I mean it, Roy. You’re welcome to come by anytime you’re in town, OK?”
"Yeah." He said, when Dick was finished, his tone as noncommittal as he could make it. “Have a good night, Dick. Thanks for.. being you." He hung up the phone, and stared at it for a good long moment, before he brought his text messages up and stared at the unsent drafts, all addressed to ‘Dad.’
He deleted them, one by one, toes curling and uncurling against the sand.