"Is everything arranged?" Was the greeting her mother provided when Juniper answered the phone. She hesitated, the burn from the cut in her arm throbbing to the beat of her heart. Her mind was swirling with contingency plans, with mental blue-prints of everything she’d done and needed to do. No one would notice what she’d added to the system during her stress tests, not unless they were on the same level as her and dedicated a week hacking through everything and looking for the little ink blots she’d left in her wake.
"Yes," June’s voice was hollow, and she leaned back in Phil's car, trying to not feel annoyed with the fact that she had to borrow it again, breathing slowly out through her mouth and then back in through her nose. "We have to choose a date within a week, I’ll…decide before the next board meeting."
There was a pause, the soft crackle of the phone, the only sound that filled her car. It wasn’t her moms fault, she was fragile enough after losing her father and brother. No one she was close with was handling their grief well, apparently. "Mom, I’m going on patrol before I head back to the tower—"
"Why are you doing this, Juniper?" Her mothers voice was cutting, and she couldn’t help but to flinch at it. Her eyes strayed up toward her rearview mirror as a set of headlights pulled up behind her. "You aren’t your father.
June sucked in a sharp breath, her fingers going numb around the phone. She was under no illusions about who she was and what she was capable of, but to hear her own mother use such a scathing, resentful tone set her on edge. Hurt unspooled within her like a ball of yarn, unraveling to the point that trying to find where it began and where it ended felt impossible.
"You’re going to die in those streets, someone is going to kill you and I won’t watch it hap—" All the self doubt that simmered within June began to boil, rolling until it spilled over, until she was choking on it. Why was it so much all of the sudden, why was it just too much.
The engine of the car behind her revved, and a drop of dread bloomed in June’s stomach like a flower. She didn’t bother saying anything to her mom, she cut the call, dropped her phone, and had just shifted the car from park to drive when the first shot shattered the back of her windshield.
"Fuck." The tires skidded across the wet pavement as she stomped on the gas, and then the car lurched forward. Juniper ripped through the streets, bitching under her breath about the stick shift as she tried to lose the car that was right on her ass, speeding and drifting the car even when it seemed too risky to do so, until they turned down an alley and she slammed on the breaks. The game of chase had grown old fast, and her chest felt tight with a surge of feelings she couldn’t quite name but knew they felt out of place.
June pulled the gun from the holster around her thigh beneath her skirt, throwing open the car door and pushing out. Her gun was raised, finger on the trigger, and so was the man that had been in the car behind her. He hesitated long enough for her to take in his black clothes, the stubble along his jaw, and the coldness in his dark eyes.
"You aren’t Phil Coulson."
"No shit."
There was a strange pause, one in which all of her emotions seemed to swell up within her like the tide of the ocean. Fear, doubt, self-loathing, guilt, anxiety, but above all else…anger. It was the beast resting in her belly, purposefully chained down and repressed only not for her sake, but for the sake of everyone around her. Her anger felt as if she were being disentangled from the inside out, like that rage was burrowing out of her ribcage, a hungry monster seeking one thing and one thing only upon it's release. The benevolence and mercy that June had carefully cultivated to be stronger than the red, ravening creature she knew she could be like were crumbling like wet tissue paper. She could feel the figurative shackles she’d made for that rage clicking open, and all she saw was red.
Their guns went off at the same time, he hadn’t been shooting to kill, and neither had she. The anger was cool and cruel, she wanted him to suffer before he got the luxury of death. June didn’t flinch as a bullet slammed into her abdomen, her own had cut a hot trail along his jaw, and then she was moving with all the grace of a lethal creature. Her heels were discarded, bare feet splashing through puddles, hitting the brick wall of the alley like a springboard, and she launched herself at him with an incoherent and animalistic snarl.
The gun clattered to the ground, forgotten and useless in her mind, and she saw the exact moment his eyes widened in surprise. She didn’t need it for this, her hands were interlocked, and she drove them down into the top of his head with a brutal slam. The man crumpled to the ground, landing in a deep puddle that splashed up around them, one of his hands instinctively scrambling against her side as she landed atop him, both of them grappling for control. Her emotions seemed to elevate to an almost impossible, incomprehensible degree. Juniper’s anger narrowed to a point where she felt bitterly cold, where logic that was a byproduct of her anger began to filter into her mind.
Her fist connected with his cheek once, twice, six times. He stopped trying to shove her off of him, one of his thumbs dug into the hole in her side, agony lancing along her spine, but she didn’t scream. She slammed her forehead into the man's face instead, heard his nose crunch on the impact, and locked her hands around his throat. He changed tactics, his fist knocking hard enough against her ribs that she felt something crack and splinter, but June just didn’t care.
Skin turned red, then purple, then blue. His struggles slowed, the hits stopped, his nails scratched painful grooves into her wrists. She watched blood vessels begin to burst in his eyes, and she only lessened her grip when spittle began to foam at the corners of his mouth. The man wheezed, struggling desperately to pull in what little air she would allow him. She started the process all over again, over and over, never letting him lose consciousness, slamming his head against the hard asphalt when his eyes drooped and pulse skipped a beat or two. June didn’t want it to stop, she was so angry. Angry at this man for targeting Phil, for shooting her, for very likely being part of the same organization that had stolen her father and brother away from her. Her family had been the sun to her world, she'd gravitated around them. Now, they were gone. June’s world had turned cold and desolate, and it–it was all her fault. If she hadn’t been so set on attending college, maybe, just maybe, she could have been there for her dad, for Thomas…her anger drowned out the sadness, it drove June to the edge of that abyss Alfred had mentioned, a point that she’d never been to before.
If she were in the right mindset, she’d keep him alive for questioning. She wasn’t though, she didn’t care about keeping him alive. The urge she felt bubbling up in her was simple, she wanted to kill him. She let it wash over her, she gave into it. It was addictive, all-consuming. She’d felt it before, tapping around the edges of her mind, trying to prise her open, but she’d always been stronger than the barbarian she knew she could be. That control had been stolen from her, and it made her angrier than anything else.
"Please," he gurgled, and something dark and bitter in her relished at the sensation of having his life in her hands, of knowing she was going to be the one to snuff it out. She knew, distantly, that this wasn’t who she was, Juniper had never been so needlessly cruel, she tried to upkeep her fathers ideals in Gotham, but her fingers spasmed around his throat and a bright laugh ripped from her.
"I’m no God," she hissed, and one of her hands lifted, pressing over his jaw, forcing him to turn his head until his mouth and nose were submerged in the dirty, rank puddle of rain water they’d fallen into. His struggles began anew, bubbles rippling to the surface, and June grinned viciously at the sight. "Begging for mercy is useless."
She could feel the spasm of his vocal cords beneath her fingers, his blood made the hold on his jaw awkward and slippery but she was persistent, urged on by the insatiable rage that was rolling across her skin like steam. She didn’t want to listen to him beg, it didn’t do anything for her or the beast in her belly, but watching him struggle, watching him aspirate on murky water, feeling him go prone beneath her, it was all immensely, perversely satisfying.
And then, as suddenly as it all started, it stopped. The abruptness of her emotions snapping back to normal left her dizzy and sick, and June was left staring at the still chest of a man she did not know. Her breathing was ragged, hands trembling as she lifted them slowly from his lifeless body, she felt as if someone had hollowed her out. There was nothing left, no anger, no cruelty, just the echo of everything that had been. She rolled off of him, collapsing beside the man like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Warmth bloomed along her side in contrast to the bite of cold in the air, each fast and choked breath leaving a puff of visible fog in front of her face.
Her blood was washed away by the rain slowly, but the water could do nothing to stop the crimson from spreading across the white of her shirt. The alleyway was dark, and cold, and each smack of rain against her bare skin stung. June stared up at the dark sky, the sound of the car's engine and her ragged breathing all she had in that moment.
Her fingers dragged across her side, spasmed over the fabric of her shirt, and something in her chest twisted painfully. The pain shot upwards, from her side, to her heart, and to her head before her vision darkened, dimmed, shivered— it hurts, it hurts.
She was alone now, though. Barely on speaking terms with her mom, part of a team that felt so unsteady they might as well have been on a paddleboard in the middle of the ocean during a storm, and she’d spent an hour picking out caskets. She was all alone.
A sob caught in her throat, echoed in the alleyway, and she pressed a hand to her stomach. Her blood swelled up between her fingers, warm and sticky. It was no different from how the man's blood had felt on her palm, and she was reminded that she’d killed him in a way that was beyond cruel. She wanted her dad, she wanted someone, anyone, to show up and pick her up. She didn’t want to be alone. I’m scared. The realization was quiet, it was not profound, but it hit her with all the force of a freight train. And then, even louder, I am so tired. For a moment, June wondered if she could just give up. No one actually needed her, not the team, not her mom, not this city. She wanted to let it all go, to just lay down and die in this alley like a dog. She was hurt, and tired, she’d tortured a man, and she just wanted it all to be someone else's problem.
She could feel her heart beating in her ears, feel it thrumming through the pain in her arm and her abdomen. The rain was so loud, it blocked out everything else. She thought about Jim, about how his smile had made her own emerge like the sun from behind clouds, about how she’d wanted him to hug her that first day even though she’d tried to lie to herself, to convince herself a hug wasn't what she needed. She wished he was here.
It hurts.
No one came. Jim wasn’t here. She was alone, all alone. The pressure she was applying to her side lessened, the desire to keep struggling dimming. Each breath hurt, her entire side ached. Her head started to feel fuzzy, and she could tell that if she gave up, she would die in this alley. The thought scared her more.
Her eyes fluttered open as hot tears streaked down to her ears, and Juniper caught sight of a light cast in the dark sky. It was a beam that cut through the darkness, the symbol of a bat in the center. She felt her sobs subside, her feelings of hopelessness slipping through her fingers like the blood she’d stopped trying to stem. No one was coming, and this was all she had left. Striving to help save the world a little bit at a time, to push it just a bit farther into the right direction. She felt like she was drowning, but her father had taught her that you don’t drown from falling into the water, you drown by staying there. I drowned that man. The thought made her want to throw up. Regardless, those thoughts were the only thing that kept her from collapsing in on herself like a dying star, it allowed Juniper to grit her teeth, and push herself to her feet.
She was bleeding all over Phil's seat, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to care. Her fingers trembled, rain water dripping down the back of her bra, and June clumsily hit the call button with one hand. Her shirt was off, bunched up and pressed to her stomach hard enough that she had to grit her teeth to keep from sobbing in pain.
The phone rang once, twice, and then it clicked as someone picked up. "Alfred?" June managed, not quite able to keep the sob that had been building in her chest from breaking free. She fumbled with the phone, blood still slick and wet on her hand. Was it hers, or did it belong to that man? She pressed the shirt harder to her side, another sob pulling from her as the pain doubled. "Alfred, is-is Phil okay?"
She shook her head, trying to clear it, trying to focus on why she’d called him. She wanted to make sure Phil was still at the tower, still safe, but she’d also needed to hear the voice of the last father figure she had left in her life. She wanted to talk to the person who knew about the abyss that haunted the Wayne family and would not judge her for it. What June hadn’t been expecting was for a very different voice to come through the speaker, jolting her from the fog that had been closing in around her mind like a snake coiling around its prey.
The muffled ringing and vibration resonating across the mattress roused Imogen from her slumber… barely. She had half a mind to ignore it or throw her phone across the room. A heavy arm draped over her side and hooked around her waist kept her firmly stuck in place, not that she was in any rush to move. Her hand slipped along the sheets until she found her phone pinned somewhere between the headboard and mattress, beneath Magni’s pillow. His warm breath caressed the back of her neck and sent a chill down her spine as her fingers wrapped around the cool metal.
Without opening her eyes, her thumb tapped the screen a couple times before she managed to answer the call. She pressed the cool screen of her phone against her cheek in time to hear June’s exhausted, pained voice on the other end. Imogen forced her eyes open as she tried to focus on the time, a little past 3 a.m., and caller I.D. "June?... Phil? What about Phil?"
"Imogen?" June pulled back the phone, growing quiet as she blinked down at the caller ID in a sort of daze. She could have sworn…but then again, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Had Imogen been the last person she’d talked to on the phone? No, it had been her mom. She shook her head again, putting the phone back to her ear only to flinch at the tone of the other woman's voice.
Magni let out a soft groan as he slipped his arm from around her and rolled over, still fast asleep. "Is something wrong?" Imogen rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up, her gaze frantically darting around the room as she waited for an answer or some kind of response. "June!?"
The surprise gave her more clarity, and she shifted her phone to balance between her shoulder and ear, struggling to open her purse with one hand. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for, pausing long enough to try and wipe the blood on her hand off on her skirt instead. She dug around in her purse for a moment, until her fingers brushed across something cylinder shaped and an idea began to take form in June’s mind.
"I’m…yeah, sorry. I just have to stop the bleeding, it’s too much." She spoke very softly into the phone as she withdrew the little plastic item, grimacing at what she knew she had to do and wanting very much so not to have to do it. She pulled back the shirt, but it stuck to the blood that had started to clot around the bullet wound. The phone slipped from her shoulder, and June dropped her shirt to adjust it. Her breath hitched, and all the fear and hopelessness reemerged with a vengeance. "It hurts Im, I don’t think…I think the bullet is still in me."
Juniper clutched at the tampon, squeezing her eyes shut as if she could block it all out. The AC in the car was on low, blowing cold air that felt harsh against her damp skin. She wanted to turn it down, but she didn’t have enough hands. Her brain was working in overdrive, bouncing between barely tangible thoughts faster than she could hold onto them. "Is Phil okay?"
"Bleeding?" Whatever sleepiness was fogging Imogen’s mind was immediately wiped clean as a cold chill ran down her spine. She quickly threw the satin sheets from her body and practically jumped out of bed. "I’ll check on Phil in a minute." Her voice was frantic as she pinned her phone between her cheek and shoulder, searching for the quickest piece of clothing to throw on. Laying on the ground beside her bed was Magni’s I love NY t-shirt and her discarded underwear. It’d have to do.
"Keep pressure on it," Imogen instructed, her tone bordering on demanding as she hastily slipped the shirt over her head while juggling the phone to keep it pressed to her ear. "Where are you?" She hopped and stumbled frantically across her penthouse as she pulled on her thong, nearly knocking over a decorative bowl of fruit in the process. She burst out into the stairwell and took the steps two at a time as she climbed two floors to her brother’s apartment.
"I was…putting pressure on it. And then I-I stopped." A beat of silence stretched across the phoneline for Imogen, and then, softer than a feathers kiss, a whisper followed like a confessional in a church. "I killed him, I think he was a mutant. My emotions weren’t in my control anymore, but I tortured him. I didn’t mean to, Imogen. I-I just…"
"Well," Imogen sounded a little winded as she reached the top floor of the tower. "Sounds like it was you or him. So the bastard deserved it." Probably not the most encouraging reassurances but she’d rather that than the alternative. Always. "I’ll tell you what, next time, I’ll do the torturing," she added, trying to lighten the mood and relieve the rising tensions in herself, and panic in June.
Juniper’s voice hitched in a sob, and she hastily used her teeth to rip the plastic from the casing around the tampon. She pulled the little cylinder free with her teeth, letting the plastic flutter away, before dropping it into her bloodied hand. It was pink and for some reason that realization dragged a hysterical, pain laden laugh from her throat. ”…I’m going to use a tampon to stop the bleeding."
Imogen burst through the door into Jim’s penthouse and quickly fumbled to press ‘mute’ on her phone. "Jim!" she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the… workshop? Honestly, was there even a bed in there? She unmuted the phone for a second to give June some encouragement as she searched for her brother. "That’s smart. Do you have any alcohol?" Mute.
"We drank it all earlier," June muttered, thinking about the meeting and the pool and how much she wished she was still there. It wasn’t anywhere near a coherent thought process, and she took a moment to puzzle over why Imogen thought drinking was a good idea as she was currently close to bleeding out.
The lights were still on, albeit dimmed. Rock music faintly underscored Imogen's footsteps. Around the corner from the elevator, near a far wall, robotic arms suspended the red and gold armor in the air. A bit of movement could be seen from behind it. A small flash of blue emanated from the right leg, followed by a relieved sigh and the sound of metal hitting metal as Jim tossed the screwdriver back in his toolbox. He slid his chair around the side, wearing a tank top and sweatpants that were both stained with oil.
When she finally found Jim, Imogen held up her hand, stopping him before any asshole insult about her lack of clothing could slip through his mouth. "Put on your suit and do whatever bullshit it is that you do to track my phone call or whatever." Her voice was urgent, not asking but demanding. "June’s been shot. I think she’s still in Gotham." She searched her brother’s eyes hoping for the sympathy and compassion that she knew was in there somewhere. "And you call me the minute she’s safe. Promise me!"
"H.E.L.E.N., trace it." Jim's relieved and confused expression was immediately replaced with worry. He snapped his fingers, and the mechanical arms lowered the suit to the ground. Jim grabbed a nearby rag, wiping some oil off his chin and forehead as his mind began racing. He paced over towards his desk, opening up a drawer and grabbing a bottle of Dramamine and immediately popping several of the pills in his mouth. The suit had integrated systems to help combat the effects of supersonic travel, but they could only do so much.
Before Jim had the chance to jump into his suit and fly away, Imogen quickly pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. "Please be careful," she whispered to him. Her head was spinning between June and the thought of her brother rushing out to save her. It needed to be done, but the anxiety already made her hands tremble. He might have been an asshole, but he was her asshole and she couldn’t lose him too.
Jim wrapped an arm around her, rubbing her back slightly as he did. "I always am." He gave her a nod as he broke from the embrace and rounded towards the back of the suit. Metal plates shifted and folded open to make room for him to climb in. The suit hummed to life, blue accent lights firing up as it began to lumber towards the balcony exit. Inside the suit, the audio of the phone call began to play. The sound of June's voice steeled his resolve and washed away any doubts of his actions.
There was a hint of June’s usual tone in that statement, a shot of cool clarity steadying her hands as she fumbled with it for a moment, hesitating with the tip of the plastic right over the edge of the bullet wound. It made sense, this is what tampons had initially been developed for, or something like that. She didn’t want to do it, giving up would have been a lot easier. "He wanted Phil, he was expecting him." She was putting it off by trying to be hysterically conversational.
Imogen took a slight step back from Jim, making sure he wasn’t picked up when she unmuted her phone. The last thing she needed was June getting pissy at her for sending her brother after her. Whatever land of denial they both lived in about their feelings could take a backseat that night. Her safety was more important. "Stop the bleeding, June," Imogen commanded her through the phone. It was almost like she got the faintest threads of thought through the call… Like a gut feeling was telling her what June was really thinking and that wasn’t an option. Fuck her own feelings, she wouldn’t let June do that to Jim. "I promise, I’m going to check on Phil right now." …After Jim leaves.
Imogen could be bossy, she knew that much, but she’d never heard her tone shift quite like this before. June clenched her teeth, leaning her head back against the headrest. She gave herself the luxury of hesitation for one more second, but then…she caught the glimpse of the bat signal still in the sky. Someone, somewhere, needed Batman but all that was left was her. She pressed the plastic into the wound, and June couldn’t stop that scream that ripped from her throat as the pain burned through her. She made quick work of it, making sure the packing was secured in place as she dragged the plastic back out.
She could feel the bullet, wedged somewhere inside of her abdomen. The pressure of the compressed gauze was uncomfortable, but the blood was stemmed successfully. June let the plastic drop from her fingers as she bent over, the phone clattering onto her thighs. It took a few minutes for her to come back to herself, to quiet the broken sobs that had been shaking her chest, to swallow the nausea that was gagging her. She managed it though, pulling the phone back to her ear with a shaking hand.
"So," she managed, voice raw and trembling. "How’s your evening been?" There were the barest hints of humor in June’s voice, she was trying to lessen the tension as her mind cleared. It wasn’t all at once, the clarity came in snapshots. One thought was louder than the others, and she fumbled in her purse for a moment, pulling out a small radio.
The blonde grimaced, pulling the phone away from her ear with a pained expression as she heard June’s agonized scream. A cold sweat trailed down her back as she swallowed the lump in her throat. Once there was quiet on the other end of the line followed by a horrible attempt at casual conversation, Imogen let out a soft sigh of relief. "Better than yours, I’d imagine."
Imogen could hear the sound of a radio clicking on, static filling the other end of the line, and then— "Bank robbery in progress off of twentieth street," June hummed in a sort of delirium, absentmindedly mopping up the blood from her side with her ruined shirt. "Good thing I packed my suit." She sighed, clearly a walking list of bad ideas.
"June… No," Imogen practically begged her, even if she knew it fell on deaf ears.
"June, yes." Her tone shifted into one of amusement, the words uttered in a fashion that was closer to singing than speaking. Loss of blood, had to be the loss of blood. Or maybe it was the fact that she was still alive that was giving her a sudden high, like a rush of adrenaline. She glanced down, sobering some at the sight of her bruising and bloodied side.
Imogen’s mouth tensed and the urge to throw her phone at the wall crossed her mind for a brief second. "You have been shot. You need to go somewhere safe, rest and wait. Not save a fucking bank!"
"What do I do with…the body?" June sat up straighter, her eyes trailing down to the red and raw wounds on her wrists. "My blood is under his nails."
"They operate outside of the law. It’s more important you leave before they collect the body… Leave it."
"My blood is under his nails," she repeated, horror leaching into her tone. "Imogen, what if they find my mom because of me? I— oh my God. I killed him, I don’t kill. Not in Gotham, what…"
Juniper’s breath hitched, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to calm the sudden flood of panic that swept through her system. When she spoke next, her voice sounded broken and exhausted. "What do I do? Tell me what to do, Im. Please."
Imogen started pacing around Jim’s apartment. She crossed one arm over her chest and tucked the hand in the crook of her elbow that was raised to hold her phone to her ear. "June. Breathe. Think." She made her own breaths loud, audible through the call hoping that she would mirror her. "Have any bodies been recovered from these attacks?"
June focused on matching her breathing with Imogen’s, every exhale shaky and pitched like the whining keen of an injured animal until she slowly calmed down. Her mom’s words from earlier bounced around in her head, and she hated the fact that she’d almost been right. She wasn’t strong like her dad, or resilient like her brother. All she wanted to do was curl in on herself and pretend it all was over with, but she couldn’t.
"Not that I know of," she managed after a few moments, voice still unsteady but the panic attack that June had been on the verge of was subsiding. She could hear police sirens far off in the distance, the radio crackling in the seat beside her. She needed something else to focus on than how her emotions felt as if they’d been ripped from her, flayed and strung out, something other than the pain that radiated in her side with every breath. "I’m sorry…for calling. I was just so…I was so scared."
She had been so close to giving up, shame made Juniper sick. How could she have been so selfish, so uncaring about what it would do to the people she cared about. The guilt was all consuming, and it made her feel undeserving of Imogen’s worry, it made her feel like a fraud of everything she aspired to be.
You aren’t your father. She swiped at the tears that trailed down her cheeks angrily, blood that was halfway to drying smeared across her skin. Her mom had been right, she was nothing like her father.
"Don’t apologize," Imogen tried to remain calm knowing Jim was already on his way there. There was a faint bit of guilt and resentment that she had to go seek help because she couldn’t help on her own. The pang of an old pain of insecurity and uselessness tugged at the back of her head but she tried to push it away. This wasn’t about her. "I’m going to check on Phil." Her feet slowly carried her to the elevator. "Please… Be rational."
"They don’t have anyone else," she whispered, pleading with her tone for Imogen to understand. It was rational, in the barest sense of the word. The bat signal was clear in the sky, but Batman wouldn’t be answering it. "I’m sorry…I have to, how could I look my dad in the eyes ever again if I didn’t at least try?"
Then the line went dead… "June?... June!?"
The lobby of the bank had a wide layout, high windows set into the roof that allowed June to slip in undetected to observe the situation before she made a move to interfere. There were a few civilians caught up in the robbery, tied up and shoved aside carelessly, but the sheer amount of goons lurking around was alarming. They were speaking in low, hushed voices that didn’t carry up to her darkened high beam. She would barely hear what they were saying, the police outside had been in a standoff with the robbers for a few hours now, but it was hearing that they were planning to stop executing civilians that spurred her into action. She dropped down into the center of it all, hoping to distract them from the bank teller they'd started to vaguely threaten.
"Well, well, well...we were waiting for you." There were maybe thirty of them, a tight circle forming around Nightingale who stood emotionless at the center of it all. Her eyes were set on the man speaking, he was at least five feet taller than her, muscles bulging in his arms as he flexed like a moron. "Stupid little Bat, falling right into our trap. This city is ours now, it’s time for you to hang up the cape."
"Oh?" June’s voice was colder than ice, her hands moved slowly until they were curled around the grip of her guns. The cool touch of the metal through her gloves grounded her in this moment, even if her side ached with every breath. "What if I say no?"
"It doesn't matter what you say, you’re dead." He spat, and a smile curled her lips. There was the slightest of pauses, the moment seeming to suspend in time as the men circled her, as her resolve hardened like Imogen’s diamond form. Everything that had happened from earlier was easily pushed away, she could focus on the fight and the fight alone for now.
"Then let's get it done." Juniper snapped, and then she ripped the guns from her holsters. There was a flurry of motion all around her, and it was only pure instinct that allowed her to duck her head, dodging a punch. She twisted to the left, between two men who moved to grab her, and the sharp bang of a gun firing, followed by a man's scream, filled the relative silence of the bank lobby.
The CZ SP-01 was a gun June had been training with for years, the weight natural in her hands. She knew how to take it apart and how to put it back together blindfolded, she knew the exact angle the casting released from after a bullet was fired, she knew it took her exactly two seconds to reload, and she knew how to handle the recoil. The moment she put pressure on the trigger, she felt the inch of give where there was no resistance, and then the snag. She forced her finger down fully, an instinctive pull that bypassed the gun's hesitation. Twice, seven times, the magazine was almost empty, the sharp smell of gunpowder filling the room.
She twisted her wrist up on the last shot, the casting from the bullet ejecting up and out, slamming into the eye of one of the men she’d just shot in the knee. A strangled sound left his throat as he clapped a hand over his face, and she ducked beneath another sloppy punch. None of the shots were lethal intentionally, but if they bled out…well, she didn’t care. Not tonight.
"What the fuck?" One of the men, he’d taken a bullet to his left foot, was staring at Nightingale like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "Batman doesn’t use guns!"
"Do I look like Batman?" The question was punctured with her throwing her gun, out of bullets, straight at his head, the heavy metal leaving an indent in his forehead, and he fell back with a thump.
"You’re out of bullets," another man, smaller than the rest, was sneering at her. "What now?"
There were twenty of them left, more or less. She hadn’t brought enough ammo with her, it was annoying, but you live and you learn. She hadn’t been expected to get fucking jumped tonight. The other gun clattered to the floor, and she raised her fists, stance widening, eyes narrowing.
"Now, I make you wish I was Batman."
One of them laughed, but it was a high pitched, nervous and teetering sound. The dance started all over again, she let a fraction of her anger rise up inside of her, let it fuel every punch, every kick. Juniper didn’t enjoy feeling bone crunch beneath her fist, but she didn’t stop. She took hits back, the sharp blade of a knife sparking off the waist of her suit, a fist slamming into her stomach and making her see stars as agony choked her for a moment, another man trying to stab her in the back. For a moment the only sounds that filled the bank were the sounds of her fists connecting with their bodies, the scuffle of feet on marble flooring, the cries of pain that followed each sharp impact.
A deafening crash disturbed the fight, everyone halting as glass rained down from one of the sky-lights. A towering suit of armor plummeted down, lowering a knee to cushion the fall with a three-point landing. It rose to its feet a moment later, glowing blue eyes scanning the scene. The suit was spotless and pristine, almost gleaming in the soft bank lighting. The suit glanced at the hostages, the goons, and then finally Nightingale. Jim's voice rang out through the suit, modulated slightly to deepen his tone. "You have ten seconds to stand down and surrender yourself to the boys in blue outside. If you fail to comply, you better hope Hell is a myth… because you will find out swiftly." In Jim's HUD, small red circles began to form over each criminal's chest as the suit began locking on. A small mechanical whirring rang near Jim's shoulder as the weapons system began priming.
"Did your sister tell you where I was?!" June’s voice was sharp, nothing like the cool professional tone she’d used with the goons. A few of them looked between her and Jim with wide eyes, and her panic at the sudden and loud entrance subsided as she realized who it was. Was Jim actually in the suit? Or had he just sent it as backup. The idea that he wasn't actually here made her feel cold. "How did you even find me?"
He didn't answer.
Her eyes narrowed as the dots started to connect, and she drew in a sharp breath. She was either going to start yelling, or laughing. There was no in-between. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Imogen snitched, not after hearing how distraught June had been. One of the goons closest to her scoffed, clearly unconcerned by the red dot level on his chest.
"What, need saving from your boyfri—" Her fist knocked out two of his teeth, it was an effective way to get someone to shut the fuck up.
"He’ll literally kill you, you thimble-headed moron." June hissed, turning back toward Jim with a grimace of pain. Imogen had told her not to come to this particular party, and she’d ignored her. Had she mentioned that to Jim? He could be mean when he got fussy.
Jim was far too furious to be phased by the comment, but smiled at June's punch. But his smile faded as she grimaced in pain. He was done playing games. She needed medical attention. "Time's up." A small panel in Jim's right shoulder shifted open, revealing a series of half-inch holes. From them small flashes of light signaled the launching of small cluster munitions, which were launched vertically. One by one, each miniature rocket hovered in the air as they were assigned a target. A dozen rockets then, in a small volley, projected themselves in a chaotic array towards their targets. As each rocket made contact with their target's chest or back, a small shockwave erupted from them. It was ultrasonic, quick, and ripped apart the internal organs of anyone it came in contact with. The squelching sound was going to be hard to forget, but Jim's face remained blank behind the helmet. They had chosen this fate. His eyes shifted to the couple who were still standing, his hands raised as the blue light from his palms glowed brighter. "Feeling lucky, punks?"
Juniper felt frozen to the spot, eyes stuck on a gaping hole in the chest of one of the men she’d been fighting. She wasn’t sure why the sight made her freeze, she’d just killed a man in a much more brutal way, but having to reconcile the idea that it was Jim who had killed them was enough to make her pause. The last two men, the one she’d just punched remained crumpled on the ground though she had a feeling he was faking unconsciousness, threw their hands up in surrender. They all looked as gobsmacked as she felt, the idiots in Gotham got too used to Batman’s no kill policy.
Batman was gone now, though. June was still trying to come to terms with what she’d done earlier, but none of the disgust she felt for herself and how she’d killed that man appeared for Jim. Actually, it was a little concerning and confusing how his blatant no-nonsense attitude about it turned her on. Prioritize, June. She reminded herself, turning slowly on her heel and moving toward the hostages.
They only had a few seconds before the cops would realize the situation had tipped in their favor and rush in, but she couldn’t just leave these terrified people tied up like this. Her adrenaline was fading fast, the pain she’d been ignoring was coming back with a vengeance, but June knelt in front of each hostage and cut them free, offering soft words of reassurance as she worked. Only when they were all freed did she unsteadily make her way toward Jim, tilting her head back to look up at him.
"Can I get a lift out of here?" Her voice was quiet and exhausted. How could she bring herself to be really upset at Imogen when she was so unbelievably happy to see Jim? She could feel blood seeping beneath her suit, apparently the tampon wasn’t very absorbent.
The suit nodded softly, and one of its arms wrapped around June's waist to pull her in close. He waited for her to set her feet on the armor's toes, kept one arm pressing her, before the repulsors lifted them off the ground. His own adrenaline helped steady himself as they rose up through the skylight. They rose up into the sky, hovering in place above the bank for a moment. She had been shot, so he knew a hospital was the best option for her health. He knew she would protest, and their conversation on privacy earlier rang in his head. He needed to find somewhere close, somewhere private where they could either get her changed or patch her up.
"Initiate autopilot. Take us to Wayne Manor, low prepulsion." In the split second before the automated flight began, Jim made sure to tilt himself and the repulsors backwards so June could safely rest and hold on to the chest plate. His optical sensors remained trained on her, and he was ready to override the second she began to slip.
A soft, muffled moan of pain slipped past her lips, and June pressed her forehead against the cool metal of his suit. She couldn’t feel it through her mask, but the closeness was nice. If she squeezed her eyes shut tightly enough, she could pretend that she wasn’t the only one of the two of them that wanted to be held in this way. It was hard to focus on more coherent thoughts as the pain washed over her, so June gave up and just focused on imagining what it would be like to feel Jim’s arms around her waist without the agony of a gunshot wound.
She missed when he’d initially routed to the Manor, but the second she realized she jerked in his arms, slipping against the metal. Her fingers scrambled for purchase, trying to find a groove or something to steady herself. "Not here," she gasped, smacking at his chest. "I have an apartment, off of Greenwood Avenue by the stadium. It’s not far, we can’t…not here."
Jim sighed, and a quick redirection from H.E.L.E.N. later sent the two back towards Gotham proper. It took him only a moment to process why she might not want to go home, especially in this state. But he would not turn down an opportunity when it presented itself. "What, afraid I’d see your baby pictures?" The adrenaline was beginning to fade, and levity was the only way he could avoid not freaking out over June’s condition.
A surprised laugh escaped her, pain tracing a hot tongue down her side for her trouble. She held onto Jim a little tighter, squeezing her eyes shut. June wasn’t particularly a fan of flying, it was different from gliding, they were much too high up for her tastes and she didn’t want to catch a peak of how far away the ground was beneath them.
It only took about a minute to soar through the air and hover over the rooftop to June’s apartment building. The suit settled down gently, holding June steady as it tilted vertical again. Once June was standing, the front of the armor opened and Jim quickly stepped out to place a hand on her shoulder. His worried smile lacked the usual dry charm. "Disappointed I wasn’t your first call… beginning to understand how Momo felt."
"I called Alfred first, actually." It felt like some sort of divine retribution for Jim, because if she were being honest…she hadn’t planned on calling him at all, or Imogen for that fact. Her weakness felt like a burden that June should be shouldering alone, she’d woken them both up, caused them stress, reminded them both that she was only human. It felt disgusting, but Alfred had been there for her dad, he understood in a way no one else ever seemed to. "I was a little delirious after…" her voice trailed off, stomach twisting. "It was an accident, calling Imogen. I meant to call Alfred. C’mon."
She nodded toward the rooftop entrance, tugging off one of her gloves to press her hand against the keypad. When she lifted it back up, there was a smear of blood left behind. June grimaced, and half turned toward Jim. "You can leave that up here, if you want. This opens directly into my apartment, I’m the only one with access to the roof. Or, we can stash it inside."
There was an absurd sense of relief that came with realizing Jim had actually come, and not just sent his suit. She tried very hard not to lean on him, using one hand to shove open the door and the other to pull off her mask. Her hair was a mess of still damp waves, a few erratic strands sticking up in odd places. There was a smear of flaking and dried blood on her left cheek, specks of the same substance on her right as if it had splattered on her. She had almost no color to her face, lips pale, and blood was dripping from her sleeve now that the glove was gone. In short, Juniper looked like an absolute mess.
The suit followed the two inside as Jim awkwardly guided her towards the apartment. His face had grown equally pale at the sight of the blood dripping from her sleeve. His eyes met hers for a moment, panic clearly flashing over his eyes. He was too tired to hide what he was feeling. "I… we should get you out of that suit and get you to a hospital." His lip quivered slightly as he failed to keep his voice steady. He anticipated protest, but he prayed she’d listen to reason. She needed serious medical treatment, not a Band-Aid. But his mind did begin cycling through what he would need, recalling the steps doctors had taken when he had cut his palm open on a saw when he was twelve.
"I’ll strip for you sweetheart," June grinned lazily at him, her eyes drooped a little as they navigated the stairs to the main level of her apartment. "But if you try to take me to a hospital, I will vandalize your workshop. "
The studio apartment opened to them after one more door, several couches clustered together just off the kitchen, there was a fine layer of dust on most of the surfaces. June hadn’t been back to this apartment in months, long before her dad went missing. The air smelled of stale leather, not entirely unpleasant but not exactly welcoming either. She led him to the bathroom just off of the kitchen, pausing to lean heavily on the doorframe for a moment, before looking over her shoulder at him. "Unzip me, please?" June waved at the zipper at the back of her suit, then winced and dropped her arm back to her side. He’d figure it out, probably.
Jim seemed a little uncomfortable at the proposition for a moment, but sighed as he knew she was in no position to do it herself. "You need an upgrade… can’t believe you’re still using a zipper." His hand felt for the pull tab, and slowly began to peel it down her back. The suit was very form fitting… perhaps a little too much in some places. He awkwardly glanced away and pulled back quickly as his hand travelled rather low down her backside. "Is… that good?"
"Then give me an upgrade, sweet cheeks. Otherwise, no complaints when you’re undressing me." June was coping with humor, trying to distract from the pain as she pulled off the top half of her suit. The fabric pulled at the congealed blood that had collected around the bullet wound, and she groaned before she ripped the metaphorical band-aid off, and just chucked the whole suit from her body as quickly as possible despite how badly it hurt.
She was left in a matching set of undergarments, black with dark red lace curled around the cups of her bra, the thread spun in elegant little swirls that disappeared out of sight between her thighs. Embarrassment seemed far away from her though as she caught sight of her side in the mirror across the bathroom. The skin was turning a dark and vivid, splotchy purple where he’d punched her, and there was a steady trail of blood sliding from the wound to the hem of her underwear. She let out a morbid laugh, and sank down to the floor, leaning against the wall. "First aid kit, under the sink."
Jim was embarrassed enough for the two of them. Despite the grotesque scene in front of him, his cheeks were still flushed red and his eyes did their best to quickly glance away from the few parts of her that were unexposed. He quickly moved towards the sink, hoping beyond hope she did not notice his expression as he dug around for a first aid kit. He grabbed onto it, a rather bulky set. Wayne’s did not mess around, it seemed. He set it down on the ground next to June, unzipping and unfolding it to reveal its contents. It was already used, something that did not surprise him. He turned back to face June.
His breath caught as he saw the bullet wound more closely. It took him a moment to process why a string was protruding from it. When he did, he grimaced. "Christ, June… did you clean the wound before you plugged it?" He already knew the answer, and his fingers trembled as he tugged on the string and began to peel the soaked tampon from the wound. He hesitated when it was clear how painful this was from the sounds June made. But he needed to keep going. He plucked out the final fibers of her makeshift gauze and removed a penlight from the kit. He shined it into the wound, and felt a twist of his stomach as he saw a bit of reflection from the hole. "Fuck," he hissed, looking up to meet June’s gaze. "I can make a new workshop, Junie.." It was a final plea, one he prayed she would accept.
"I’m sorry, honey." She smiled at him grimly, her voice raw from the scream that had torn at her vocal cords when he removed her makeshift patch job, knowing she was going to owe both Jim and Imogen for the emotional damage she’d caused this evening. June held out one of her hands, only a little surprised by how steady they were. "I can do it, it’s okay."
She was trying desperately to reassure him, the guilt at even having Jim in this situation with her was enough to make her feel like she was choking on it. She wanted to reach out, to brush her fingers along the ridge of his jaw, but it was a thought surely brought upon by the blood loss, and all she would do was get her blood on him. It would have been better if the bullet had gone clean through, though she certainly would have died then. Fishing it out seemed like a horrible plan, especially if she was…"I have a bottle of blueberry brandy in my kitchen, I need that. Please." Liquid courage, and all that.
Jim nodded, sliding the first aid kit away from June as he rose to his feet. "Right..." He backed out of the bathroom, and made his way to the kitchen. A couple bottles of alcohol were lined on the counter, and he quickly scanned the bottles until he found the right one. He went about unscrewing the top, taking a whiff. The alcohol burned his nostrils, but he could sniff just a hint of the aforementioned fruit. He took a swig himself, letting the liquor burn his throat as he gave a slight gasp. He did not understand the appeal, but June clearly had a strong sweet-tooth. He entered into the bathroom, opening and closing his right fist to warm up his fingers. He handed her the bottle, eyeing her carefully. "I’ll do it."
He knelt down next to June again, removing a set of long tweezers and the hydrogen peroxide. He sterilized the metal tool, and grabbed for the penlight again. He held it between his teeth, aiming it at the wound so he could get a good look for where the bullet was. He used his left hand to hold taught June’s skin, and slowly inserted the teeth of the instrument into the gaping wound. He moved slowly, treating it like that silly game his mother loved when he was a kid. After a moment, the tips of the tweezers tapped against the edge of the bullet. He slid the tweezers between June’s flesh and the metal fragment, and then spat out the penlight. He met June’s gaze, his eyes preemptively watering as he feared the scream that was about to come. "I’m sorry." His movement was quick, as he steadied the bullet and ripped it out in a quick motion. Blood seeped from the wound, and Jim quickly grabbed for some gauze to help sop up the mess.
She drank more than she ought to have, downing a decent amount of the expensive liquor before pulling the bottle back. It burned down her throat, soothed by the sweetness that lingered on her tongue. It was an improvement from the shit she’d drank with Imogen and Magni and it took the edge off as the cool metal tweezers sunk into her side. She grit her teeth, clenching her jaw tightly to muffle the sounds of protest that bubbled up from her throat. One of her hands, slick with sweat and blood, pressed over her mouth to stifle the scream. Her back arching some before she slumped back against the wall, breathing heavily.
"Stiches," June groaned, shoving herself to the side until she was laying flat on her back. The coolness of the floor leached into her skin, helping soothe the nausea. She felt dizzy and sick, why couldn’t she just pass out already? That would have made everything so much easier. "There’s a baggy of…vitamins, in that kit. Need them, it’ll help." She let her eyes slip shut, too tired to struggle keeping them open. Iron, B9, B12, Vitamin C, they wouldn’t help as much as a blood transfusion undoubtedly would, but they would help her body replenish what she’d lost a little faster.
The analytical filter of her thoughts dimmed for a moment, and when June forced her eyes open it was to the sight of Jim leaning over her. The overhead light created a halo around his head, and even though her vision was fuzzy around the edges and the pain in her side was agonizing, she was stunned for a moment. "Jim…?" she reached out, her fingers curling clumsily around his forearm. "Can you…come closer, I need a favor." She was whispering, making it harder for him to hear her.
Jim was good with instructions. He quickly reached his hands up and ran the faucet, rinsing off the excess blood on his hands before he dug around for food in her medical bag. He did find the ziplock bag easily enough, and shoved them into one of June’s hands. He eyed the seeping wound, plucking out more gauze and pressing it into the wound while he moved in close. "Now isn’t exactly the time for favors, Junie." Yet, he did move closer, worried that she was close to losing consciousness. He reached a hand up towards her neck, placing his fingers along a vein to begin checking for a pulse. "What is it?"
Her pulse thundered against his fingers, and June instinctively wet her lips. Her gaze was half-lidded, her hand squeezing his arm before she let it slowly glide down to curl around his wrist, fingers dragging leisurely against his smooth skin. "On account of the fact that I nearly died today, I need you to kiss me." Her lips curled up into a soft smile, but there was nothing teasing about the request like there had been back at the tower. It was a genuine request. "I…just need to know…"
Jim’s heart felt like it was going to explode. After all this, all the pain she was in, she was still teasing him. Even near-death couldn’t stop her mocking, it seemed. And yet, something in her movement, in her tone, lacked that playful seductive tone from before. It was almost… serious? "June..." He paused, his eyes taking in the sight of her as he felt blood soaking through the cloth. She was losing a lot of blood. He needed to fix her. He didn’t have time for this. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to say no. "You’re going to give me the wrong idea, Miss Wayne." A weak smile formed on his lips, his eyes carefully studying her face. "What do you need to know?" Redirection… he could just ignore the request. She was clearly delirious. Maybe she meant something else?
"James," she tried again, squeezing his wrist as hard as she could, voice more serious than it had been a week earlier when they’d listened to Thomas’s voicemail. There was an edge to her tone, something bordering on desperate. "Kiss me." Her hand released his wrist, rising to catch in the fabric of his shirt, uncaring about the stains that were left in her wake. "I almost died today, and one of the last things I thought about was you." June tugged on his shirt, eyes breaking away from his own to settle on his lips before they slid back up, their gazes reconnecting. "I need to know what you taste like."
Jim audibly gulped down the excess saliva in his mouth. His eyes grew wide. This was real. No, no, this was some weird dream. They usually weren’t this graphic, but he’d had them before. His stomach did flips while his heart threatened to beat right out of his sternum. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe she was delirious. Maybe she did have feelings for him. Whether he liked it or not, he knew there was only one way to get her to cooperate long enough to sanitize her wound and stitch her up regardless of which scenario was true. He kissed her.
He didn’t know what he was doing, of course. He lifted a hand up to June’s cheek, tilting her head just enough that he could guide himself in quickly. He puckered his lips and pressed them against June’s awkwardly. The taste was, in fact, stronger this time. Cherry, with a hint of grapefruit. He held his lips against June’s for a few moments, his brain short-circuiting in his skull as they kissed. The warm swell in his chest was intoxicating. He slowly tried to pull away and peel his lips from hers.
"No," she breathed against his lips, her other hand curling around the back of his neck, fingers brushing through the loose strands of his hair. They were so close she could feel the heat radiating from his chest to hers, the frantic tempo of his heart beating against her knuckles from where she held onto his shirt. "Like this."
She pressed their lips together softer, gently, like she was worried he would break beneath her kiss. She nipped at his bottom lip, soothing it with the tip of her tongue, and when his mouth fell open she kissed him as if she were on her deathbed. He tasted like coffee and oil, a combination she never would have thought would be nearly as appealing as it was. The kiss lasted until her lungs were screaming for air, lips wet as she finally pulled back, chest rising and falling rapidly with her breath. She grinned at him, leaning back in for one more, soft kiss, and then…she promptly passed out.
This was definitely a dream. June’s kiss had sent shivers down Jim’s spine. Blood flowed in places he definitely didn’t want it to, and he was afraid her touch was going to send him into cardiac arrest. He had followed her lead, kissing her just as intensely and passionately as if it were the only kiss he would ever have. And when it broke, and he saw that grin, a lifetime of unknowable feelings had coalesced in an instant. Her words from earlier, her teasing… had she always felt similarly?
He was lucky he did not have the time to parse the feelings further. June’s sudden collapse into him had sent a new panicked surge through him. He struggled to lower her down onto the floor, his fearful state drowning out the bliss a mere second before. He got to work immediately, using peroxide to disinfect the wound while plucking out a small needle and some thread. She was in no state to protest a call for an ambulance, but perhaps his own common sense had been washed away in the kiss. His movements were hasty and sloppy, as he did his best to sew closed June’s flesh. He lowered his head down towards the wound to rip off the excess thread with his teeth. He used a spare towel to wipe away the pool of blood that was shared between them, his breath ragged and labored as he finished his work. He looked out towards the kitchen, where his armored sentinel kept vigil over the scene. Jim stumbled for it, climbing in and guiding it towards June’s body. Metal arms scooped June carefully off the ground and very slowly guided her, with much pivoting, out of the bathroom. The armor slowly lumbered up the stairs, and settled June down onto her bed.
It took Jim thirty minutes to clean up. He texted Imogen that June was alive. He scrubbed the blood from the bathroom tiles. He discarded his bloody shirt into the trash. He packed her first aid kit up and moved it to her nightstand. He drank a bit more than he perhaps should have. He checked on her throughout this process, before he finally resolved to grab a small metal sticker from inside the suit. He pressed it against her chest with much hesitation, and checked that the suit was picking up her vitals. "Alert me if she gets worse." His last order came as he slumped down in a chair he had dragged to her bedside. It took only moments for the exhaustion to finally drag him down to slumber.
She did not taste nearly as sweet in his dreams.
