Chapter Text
Wonder Woman was on yet another “diplomatic mission” in London. While there were plenty of such missions that were worthwhile ventures in promoting peace, this was nothing of the sort. This was a room full of frail men crowing about the “glory” of a war that they had been too young (if alive at all) to serve in. The war that had forced her to drive her sword through her own uncle, her kin . She did not regret that choice, even Ares himself had admitted his hubris when she last visited New Olympus, but she certainly did not enjoy reliving it. The Justice League had insisted her attendance for the anniversary of Armistice Day was important. Her long standing history lent no small amount of legitimacy to the JL, and appearances like these reminded the world of her “contributions.”
It was almost a relief when the shock wave of a bomb rattled the windows of Parliament. Almost . Her patience was being severely tested by a particularly vocal MP’s not-at-all-subtle xenophobia when she felt the familiar ripple of air just before the main body of the wave hit the building. It was far enough away that none in attendance were in immediate danger, so she was out the door and into open air before the attendees were aware of the blast at all. Her eyes snapped to the source of the explosion, water still raining back down from where the charge had presumably hit the water just below Westminster Bridge.
Wonder Woman launched toward the scene, spotting a police officer standing by the edge of the bridge nearest to the detonation site. He was looking with utter confusion between the water and a young, dark-haired man mounting a motorcycle. A messenger bag lay near the officer’s feet, its contents scattered across the ground. Diana landed by the officer moments after the bike took off, weaving through the stalled mid-day traffic with the ease of a practiced rider. She kept an ear out for the sound of it (Clark may have her beat in range, but she had far, far more experience) and addressed the officer,
“Was that the culprit, on the bike?” the man startled, registering her sudden presence. A glance over revealed no obvious injuries, though she suspected his ears must be ringing quite fiercely.
“I-... Wot?” the officer took a shaky breath, “‘E ‘ad a gun- but ‘e tried to defuse it, I think? ‘Ad a right nasty grin when ‘e said there wadn’t ‘nough time, an’ chucked it right o’er the edge.” The officer waved weakly toward the water below. Diana nodded,
“Call it in. I’ll pursue the man on the bike.” The officer might have made some form of confirmation, but Diana was already up and flying toward the fading sound of the bike. The rider was fast, faster than anyone had the right to be in the dense city traffic. Either a local, or well trained , she thought, or both . A block or so away she heard the bike come to a screeching halt, and she honed in on the location. As Diana cleared the rooftop, she saw a door slam near the now-parked motorcycle.
She dropped down in front of the door, noting what sounded like rushed packing inside, and then kicked the door open. The gunfire in response was immediate. She deflected the assault, noting the concentrated fire at her center of mass. Definitely well trained, likely - the thought fell away abruptly when she made eye-contact with the man behind the gun.
“Jason?”
He froze. Recognition, panic, and sadness flickered across his face before an unfamiliar rage took their place. His once soft blue eyes flashed an ominous green.
“ Fuck .”
~~~
Nothing about today had gone as planned. Shurik was likely still alive, Jason had been unable to defuse the last of the charges, said charge had to be thrown off West Minster bridge of all places, way too many people had seen his face, and now standing in the doorway to his last stop in London was Wonder Woman . The look on her face upon seeing him was something he was utterly unprepared for, something he had hoped to avoid until his second death. She wouldn’t be able to look at him like that once she knew about him. Knew what he had done, what he planned to do.
The familiar rage of the Pit rumbled in his chest. Anger was easier . Anger at himself, at the Joker, at the man he once called ‘Dad’, at Shurik for being an opportunistic, bomb-building bastard…
“ Fuck. ”
The sound of heavy steps from further inside the temporary safe house drew both their attention before anything else could be said. Multiple people, some of them armed, based on the sound of safeties being switched off. The goddamn Russians . Jason now was sure Shurik was still alive. He figured the odds of Shurik being found and or saving himself were high, Jason had strapped bombs to the very man who taught him how to make them after all. But the confirmation only made the Pit boil hotter.
Jason glanced at Wonder Woman. Her posture was tense, coiled to strike, but clearly trying to discern if the impending threat was for him or her, or both. He turned to train his weapon at the door behind him, exposing his back to her. While she may come to hate him soon, he knew she wouldn’t strike at him from behind without reason. There weren’t many rounds left in the 9mm, half emptied from his ill-advised shots fired at the Amazon.
He sensed her movement behind him, cautious steps to flank him, just beyond arm’s reach. The steps were closer, nearing the door. Jason braced, and when the door swung open to reveal the swarm of Russian mafia he opened fire. The six men holding guns dropped, headshots sending sprays of gray matter and blood onto their nearby members. There was no chance for a counter strike or regrouping as Wonder Woman flew into action the instant Jason stopped firing, sending the remaining men flying like bowling pins in ill-fitted suits.
Jason knew this was the perfect moment to run. Use the moment to his advantage, disappear while Wonder Woman was distracted, but the Pit screamed out for blood, for a place to channel the violent wave of Lazurus green flooding his vision. He leapt into the fray, the knife from the sheath on his thigh finding the neck of the nearest Russian, and a guttural roar bursting from his chest.
~~~
Diana hadn’t hesitated to address the threat of the men who had burst in. They were clearly there to harm Jason, and at the moment that was the only reason she needed. Jason , the sweet boy who had looked up at her in such awe as Robin, and would always find his way near her whenever he’d joined them at the Watch Tower or missions. The boy who sometimes let the joyful mask of Robin fall and entrust her with pieces of his past; his mother’s addiction and growing up in Crime Alley. Jason was alive .
He had grown so much ( dear gods, he had been able to grow ), but there was no way she wouldn’t recognize him. Hearing of his death had been agonizing, she’d come to hold a maternal affection for him during their times together, and Batman’s delayed notification would have tempted her to hit the man if he hadn’t already looked so broken when relaying the news. It hadn’t been Batman delivering the news in the Watch Tower that day, it had been Bruce, a father who had lost his son.
Bruce’s grief only gave Diana so much grace for the man, though. When she learned of how Jason Todd had died, the fact that Bruce (backed by Clark) refused to take out justice against his murderer had enraged her. Justice, not vengeance , Bruce had told her. They didn’t speak for months, save for meetings at the Watch Tower which were cold and brief. Diana had heard rumors of Batman’s escalation in violent behavior, only tampered by the appearance of the new Robin. Her disdain for Bruce’s penchant in creating child soldiers was something she made very clear when confirmation of the new Robin came out at a JL meeting.
The newest Robin, Tim Drake, was a brilliant child, and she could not blame him for the steps she later learned he had taken to set Bruce straight, but she often wondered how no one else saw the exhaustion so deeply etched into him. He fought with a desperate precision, the weight of the Robin title and desire for Bruce’s approval so painfully clear to her. It was something she had seen many times over her life; the second son becoming crown prince after the sudden death of his brother, the barely-of-age soldier thrust into command after the deaths of his superior officers. Her warnings fell on deaf ears when posed to Batman, and she knew there was little she could do to change the mind of her once-friend.
Her eyes hardly left Jason as she tore through the men she presumed to be Russian hired muscle. He had fired lethal shots with practised ease, and immediately followed her charge with a guttural war cry. His movements were smooth, years of training made his work with the blade effortless, those of a warrior seasoned in battle . The rage had deepened on his face, the flash of green in his eyes now lingering, and it felt out-of-place against the clean control in his strikes.
After the last of her own opponents had been knocked out, she paused to watch him for a moment. Many in the JL were opposed to lethal force, and for the most part Diana understood the philosophy. The Justice League needed to be seen as a benevolent force, intervening to contain and protect, but Diana had seen too many times the harm a single life can cause. Death was to be expected in battle, both sides laying their lives on the line for their cause. The Robins had been trained to never take a life, and yet Jason took the lives of his enemies without hesitation. Their deaths may not affect her, but she couldn’t help but wonder how they affected him .
When the last man fell with a wet gasp, Jason stood motionless over him, taking slow breaths before wiping off his blade on one of the fallen’s clothes. His eyes met hers as he rose, the green that had colored his eyes fading, taking the intense rage with it. Uncertainty, and a hint of perhaps guilt, flickered on his face before it settled into a stoney blankness, an expression she recognized from years of dealing with Batman. She raised her hands in a sign of non-aggression,
“I have no qualms about what took place in this room, though I have…” her voice softened, less Wonder Woman and more Diana, “many questions.” Jason’s posture relaxed minutely, “Law enforcement is likely on their way, would you be willing to-”
“I’m not handing myself over to those spineless pricks .” He spat. She shook her head,
“No, o meli , I wasn’t going to ask you to.” The term of endearment seemed to surprise Jason, but not negatively, the spike in aggression at the mention of police tempering as she spoke, “I want nothing more than to talk.” Diana took a small step forward, and when Jason didn’t retreat, she took a few more, stopping again at arms-length. “You’re alive . I-” her voice cracked slightly, the rush of emotions threatening to break through, “I won’t demand answers if you don’t wish to talk about how you are alive, but… please ? Come with me? Even if just for a short while... I missed you so, so much o meli .”
Jason’s uncertainty was nearly palpable, and a heavy silence hung between them, only broken when nearling police sirens cut through it. He gave a small inclination of the head in agreement,
“Let me grab my bag.”