cut out all the ropes

Jade is drunk. So there’s that. The only reason he’s even here to witness this undoubted trainwreck is because Artemis is out of town - Stanford, of all places - and apparently he’s the next best thing (“Please, Roy! I’ll never rag on your whole sidekick thing again.”).

Come on, Roy Harper might be a clone but he’s not heartless. He is a good guy after all - or something like it. She did say please. And it’s not like he really expects Artemis to stop goading him whenever they get a silent moment during patrol anyway, she likes irritating him too much.

He stalks into the bar and spots her profile. She’s sitting right up at the counter, eyes unfocused, staring into the glass cupped in her hands like it held the meaning of life. There aren’t many customers around, just a busboy wiping down one of the raised tables, and he can hear something that sounds like AC/DC drifting tinnily out of unseen speakers. He makes a beeline for the bar; his shoes produce unusually loud thumping sounds on the wooden floor every time he takes a step.

“Okay. Let’s go.” He must look kind of threatening, because the bartender side-eyes him and he forces himself to relax his posture and soften his voice, even though he’s still kind of cranky that he was woken up at two in the morning by the bane of his existence to come to the aid of her evil sister, the other bane of his existence.

“Jade. You’re drunk and I need to get you home.” It’s kind of weird calling her Cheshire when they’re not trying to kill each other (fine, incapacitate) and the other option is also weird and feels too personal, but it’s all he’s got, even if saying her name out loud makes him realise how pretty it is.

What, it is a pretty name, alright?

She barely responds to the sound of his voice - if his presence is unexpected, she doesn't show it - and she slaps a few bills on the counter. “Thanks, Tom.” The bartender - who actually reminds him a bit of an older GA - nods at her, a little fondly, and fixes his steely gaze on Roy.

He resists the glare he can feel starting to form on his face - Artemis would find it hilarious if Tom called the cops on him - and reaches to help Jade stand but she shakes him off. She walks ahead of him in her sturdy motorcycle boots, her black hair trailing down her back, swaying a little but mostly keeping her composure. But then she stumbles a little and he rushes (casually increases his pace) to walk beside her. Maybe she’s drunker than she seems. No wonder blondie asked (begged) him to walk her home. Gotham isn’t known for late night safety. Sure, she’s an assassin, trained by the League of Shadows for crying out loud, hell, even that little green kid they just brought back from Bialya knows that she could perform a tracheotomy on some unwilling participant before you could even finish saying the word, but in this condition, she wouldn’t be able to take a whole group of thugs on her own. She’d be able to take a couple, but not all of them.

She’s hasn't said a word since they left the bar. He’s not used to it - usually they’re trading barbs or she’s trying to distract him with…her feminine wiles while he tries to stop her from blowing something up or something equally as diabolical - and it makes him uncomfortable because if they don’t start talking or doing something that reminds him of them, he’ll just be a boy walking a girl home and he doesn't want this to turn into something it isn’t.

“So. Why were you getting wasted at some bar on a weekday night?”

“I have a flexible work schedule.” She grins toothily and something sparks in him that feels like the beginning of a laugh but he tamps it down before it blooms. She shrugs. “Do you really need a reason?” He doesn't push her. “I guess not.” Now that she’s speaking in full sentences, he can tell her voice is a little slurred. At least she’s relaxed enough that she doesn't have that smug look on her face all the time, which is definitely not a bad thing. In fact it’s almost a relief, because it annoys him big time and he’s too tired to be annoyed right now.

“Better question. Why are you here? I got the wrong archer.”

He frowns. “Your sister’s out of town. Didn't you know that?”

She smacks a palm against her forehead exaggeratedly. “Right, her college thing.” She quirks an eyebrow. “And she sends Speedy instead. Of course.” Irritation is a white hot flare behind his eyes. He knows she’s trying to bait him, and the sad thing is that it’s working, as it always does. Few people could get under his skin more than Jade. “It’s Red Arrow. You know that.” He grinds out, the space between his eyebrows furrowing. “I don’t even know why I came. This is a waste of my time.” He flings a hand out in her direction as she cocks an eyebrow at him. “You’re obviously fine! You can - ”

A thought occurs to him and it stops him in his tracks. It’s not something he’s ever considered before, but he realises that the reason he’s there is because aside from her sister, she doesn’t really have anyone. He has the boys and Kaldur, at least, who he can definitely count on to pick his drunk ass up from a seedy bar. Well, theoretically - he doesn't make it a habit to get wasted in public.

But Jade, she really only has Artemis.

And he should stop being a douchebag right this second. Groaning exasperatedly, he rubs his face roughly with both hands.

“Are you done?”

“Whatever.”

They walk a bit longer and at random intervals she accidentally walks into his space and it takes him twice before he stops jerking away like she has a contagious disease. She might as well have, if deceit and criminality were a sickness. After that, whenever she veers to the left, he lightly places his hand on her shoulder to set her right. She doesn't say anything and he can’t help feeling that if she were fully sober right now she’d hate it.

He realises she’s only wearing a thin-looking olive green jacket over her black t-shirt, and the wind is picking up a bit, bringing with it a slight chill. He debates with himself for a bit, then with a defeated sigh, shrugs off his jacket and shoves it at her wordlessly. She fixes him with a flat look for a long moment, but she takes it anyway, and he expects her to drape it over her shoulders but she puts it on and stuffs her hands into the pockets like it has belonged to her all along.

A few blocks away from her apartment, she suddenly pivots to the right and empties the contents of her stomach into someone’s hedge. He doesn't know what to do and by the time he figures it out (he should probably hold her hair back or something but, uh), she’s composed herself and continues walking like it never happened.

He watches her extra closely out of the corner of his eye.

“Stop looking at me, Red. I’m not going to hurl all over you.” His gaze shifts almost sheepishly back to the streetlight-lit path in front of them, but his voice is unapologetic. “I’m just worried about my jacket.”

“If I get vomit on it I’ll pay for the dry-cleaning, I promise.” He rolls his eyes at her flippant tone.

He walks her all the way up to her second floor apartment and he notes that this building isn't much different from his in Star City - same suspicious stains on the walls, same faint smell of smoke, same dodgy lighting, that is, pretty much none at all. She stops at a door that says 214. Fishes a key out of her pocket. He notices there’s a little cheshire cat charm dangling off the key ring. It makes him feel strange somehow, like he’s seeing a side of her reserved for…people who are not him, which is ridiculous, because it’s a keychain.

“Well, this has been fun. You were…scintillating, as usual.” She says as she unlocks the door, in her coy voice, the one she usually uses when she talks to him, but she’s looking at a point above his eyes.

“No problem.” He shrugs, and he’s not sure if he means it, which is surprising, because usually he doesn’t. She steps inside - it’s dark, but he can make out a sofa and a kitchenette - and moves to close the door but he sticks a foot out to stop it, “I - uh - ”.

She sighs theatrically, a smirk curling the edge of her mouth. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to go to bed. You hero types…” She clicks her tongue. He bristles at the word, he hasn't really felt like a hero in a long time. “Don’t tell me Red Arrow’s going soft. Especially against a shadow assassin.” She emphasises his alias like she’s reading a children’s book. He scowls at her, crossing his arms. “Not a chance.”

“Wouldn't have it any other way.” She winks at him, tosses him a look over her shoulder and the door closes with a click. He stands there a moment too long glaring at her closed door, until laughter from a passing car drifts upwards, jerking him into motion.

Roy walks to the zeta tube alone, and it’s only when he steps through the door of his own apartment that he realises that he never got his jacket back.