Shouldn’t have digital evidence when you have a family of hackers
[DP x DC fic]
[Love at first... murder? - part 14]
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Part 1
Ao3
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Text in italics and in-between ' means it is said in sign language
'For example.'
If an entire scene is written in italics, that means that that scene is a flashback.
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When Jason glances at where Danny and Ellie were, he sees nothing. He’s too relieved to really care much about how they got out of here so quickly.
He’ll ask Danny about it later.
Probably…
“Red Hood.”
“Bitch.” Is his response.
Jason is slightly disappointed, but entirely unsurprised, by the lack of reaction he gets.
“Who were they?”
“What were those civilians doing on the roof?”
“Where did they even go?”
“Just some informants for a case I’ve been working on.” Jason says, not giving anything about them away.
“Which case?”
“Did they attack you?”
“Yeah, who took a bite out of your arm? And more importantly, how did you taste?”
“Steph, I don’t think now’s the time—”
‘Medical assistance?’
Jason follows the Bats’ gazes towards his injured arm. He resists the urge to hide it and instead crosses his arms, trying to play it off.
“No, this is from… a cat.”
“A cat?”
“Yes. A stray cat. Bit me.”
“Tch. It’s obvious Todd is incompetent when it comes to caring for animals. For it to attack you like that you must have done quite poorly. What did you do to it?” Damien glares at him in an accusatory way.
“I didn’t do shit, Demon Brat. I was just scanning the street when it bit me outta nowhere.”
“Well, excuse me if I don’t believe you, Todd. You clearly must have cornered, threatened, or hurt it in some way for it to react—"
“Yeah, yeah.” Jason cuts him off and rolls his eyes, even though none of them can see it through the helmet. The energy is there.
“Animals hate me, and I can’t take care of them for shit. Now, can we move on to why you’re all here on my turf?” Jason stares them all down.
Before anyone else can speak up, Dick starts talking.
“Can’t an elder brother just visit his younger sibling every once in a while?” Dick asks with a totally innocent grin.
“No.”
Dick shrugs. “Worth a shot.”
“While we originally came here to interrogate you about your involvement in the disappearance of the Joker, these imbeciles wanted to use the encounter as a way to simultaneously confront you about your new… beloved” Damian says, gesturing towards the others sounding completely done and unimpressed.
‘Got them flowers?’
“So how was the dinner? And the observatory? Do they like the stars? What’s their name? Hobbies? Age? Appearance? Interests?”
“Are they hot?”
“Seeing as you picked up a bouquet of sweet peas in costume, and didn’t take a detour to your apartment or safehouse before your location started glitching, I have to ask. Are you dating a civilian as Red Hood?” Babs speaks up over the comms.
Tim stays suspiciously silent, not asking any questions. Jason cuts them all off.
“Where the hell did you even get this information from?”
“Tim snitched.”
“Drake mentioned it.”
“Tim.”
“Timmy told us.”
“Red Robin informed us about your outing.”
“I hacked some cams to see you pick up the flowers, but Tim was the one to say you were on a date at the time.”
Tim raises his finger and opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up and defend himself. He then stops, seemingly considering something before dropping his hand back down and just shrugging.
“If you didn’t want anyone to know you shouldn’t have gone out as Red Hood when getting the flowers and taking them out to dinner.
“Besides, I tried to respect your privacy and redirect everyone somewhere else to keep them off your back. But they interrogated me, and I’m sorry.” He says, not sounding sorry at all. “It just… slipped out.”
“You didn’t try that hard—"
Tim shushes Steph and cuts her off.
“Besides! Babs also stalked you! Through the cameras! And, I didn’t say that much. I just told them you were on a date.”
Jason glares at them all through the visor of his helmet. Meanwhile, Dick crosses his arms and pouts.
“Yeah, Timbers—” “No real names.” “— wouldn’t tell us anything! He used his lack of sleep against us.”
---
“So Timmy, I need you to tell me everything. Pretty please?”
Tim raises his finger and opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up. Then his eyes roll into the back of his head and he starts falling backward.
Dick yelps and manages to catch him before he falls onto the ground and hits his head.
“Damn it, Tim!” He whines. “Passing out like that should not have been the power move that it is.”
“He can fall asleep after this?!” Steph’s incredulous voice pipes up.
Dick’s gaze moves from Tim over to where Steph was previously half-dying due to Tim’s monstrosity of a drink. She’s standing by now, clutching the mug in a death grip. She’s twitching every now and again, her foot tapping the floor rapidly.
“Ehm, Steph? You okay?”
“Mhmm, think I’m having a stroke”
“Oh, that’s not good—”
Dick cuts himself off as Steph starts to stumble. He moves closer to catch her in case she falls as well, but luckily she manages to save herself from falling, clumsily moving to sit down on the floor instead.
Once seated, she lets her back hit the floor. She also lets go of the mug, letting it spill onto and roll around the floor of the cave.
“Y’know, I think I’m just gonna stay here for a bit. Maybe do some stalactite gazing. It’s riveting stuff, I tell you!”
Dick lets out a small sigh and nods a little.
“You do you, boo”
He gets a thumbs-up in response.
---
“Why are you actually here?” He cuts them off, already done with their bullshit. “Don’t start the bullshit about the ‘date’ again. Either talk business or leave.”
He privately notes the lack of green in his vision.
They all glance at each other before Batman steps forward and speaks up.
“What is your involvement in the disappearance of the Joker.”
“I don’t have anything to do with the Joker’s disappearance” Jason vehemently denies, arms still crossed.
“Are you sure about that?” Babs’ voice pipes up over the comms.
A hologram forms above Batman’s gauntlet computer. The hologram shows a picture of Jason in his Red Hood costume without his helmet grinning at the camera. He’s holding up the camera selfie style and seems to be in one of the alleys of Crime Alley.
The most intriguing part of the picture is the figure next to Jason on the ground. There, in clear view, lies the dead body of the Joker. His head seems to be caved in in a way that shows he most likely died on impact, hit by something that had a lot of force.
Jason pauses at the sight of one of his most precious keepsakes.
“Of course you hacked my phone” He scoffs, clearly unhappy.
Jason turns back to look at the Bats and watches their reactions to the revelation the Joker is most certainly dead. Dick seems to have some sort of weight lifted off of his shoulders. Cass doesn’t give anything away.
Damian is unimpressed, scoffing at the hologram and likely already mentally criticizing the technique. Steph seems to be more relaxed, “Damn, Jason, this totally looks like that one Grant Gustin next to the grave meme,” while Tim seems to be having some kind of world-shattering epiphany.
He then eyes Batman’s tense posture. Jason shifts slightly, getting ready to fight if it comes to it.
“Red Hood. Did you kill the Joker?” Batman grinds out slowly, pinning Jason with a soul-piercing stare. Jason carefully eyes Batman’s tightened fists before locking eyes with him again.
“No,” Jason answers honestly.
Jason and Batman are locked in a stare-down, neither speaking another word. The tense silence goes on for a few seconds before it’s broken by Dick casually putting his arm around Jason’s shoulders in a friendly gesture.
“Welp. Seems like he didn’t do it, B. If he says he didn’t, I believe him.” Dick speaks up.
Jason and Batman both untense a little, the moment broken. Jason lets out a small grumble and shrugs Dick’s arm off his shoulders. Dick lets him with a smile.
“Wait, so you just found his body dead in a ditch somewhere? I called it!” Steph pipes up.
She holds her hand up for a high-five. Cass gives her one.
Jason shrugs nonchalantly “You could say that.”
“You may not have killed him, but it’s clear you’re covering for the actual murderer. Who is it and why are you protecting them?” Batman asks, not letting it go.
“You may not believe me, B, but it was just a freak accident as far as I could tell.”
If you call a meta one-punching the Joker in self-defense a ‘freak accident’.
It’s not like Danny meant to do it. Ergo: accident.
“Nothing more, nothing less. I found him like that. All I did was get rid of the body and wipe some cams. Not that those would have been much helpful if let unwiped anyway.” He shrugs, unconcerned.
“Do you know what caused the files to become corrupted this way? I’ve seen corrupted files before, but this is something else…” Babs says over the comms, tone curious.
“Nah, they were like that even before I wiped them. Might have something to do with whatever took the fucker out. Don’t know though, and I don’t care.I’m just glad the city’s finally rid of that bastard.”
“Amen to that!”
Batman’s glare moves over from Jason to Tim, who meets his gaze headfirst and just gives him an unimpressed stare in return.
“You gotta be honest, B. There’s not really anyone gonna be missing him…”
“Now, if that’s all. I gotta go. I’ve got some work to do, cases to solve, groceries to buy. Y’know, not everyone has the freedom to walk around dressed as furries beating up bad guys 24/7. Some of us have a life.” Jason cuts in.
“And since when are you the one to have a life outside of being a vigilante?”
“Oh, you know, since somewhere around the time my gruesome murder was finally avenged,” Jason says sarcastically.
“Who knew that that would be something that would make it feel like a weight is lifted off of your shoulders and that it would finally bring some peace into your life?
“Let me know if you find the guy who did it, okay? Feel like this was a great service to the community and it deserves a nice reward. Might bake ‘em a cake or something. Maybe some cookies… ” Jason pretends to think.
“Where’s the body?” Batman asks, ignoring Jason’s sarcasm.
“And when are you going to introduce us to your new partner?” Dick chimes in as well.
“Not telling you, and never if I can help it. Now, goodbye.” Jason grinds out before leaving.
Jason turns and runs to the edge of the building, making his way over to the next building and leaving the Bats behind on the roof. As he gets farther away from the other vigilantes, the last thing he hears is Steph speaking up.
“Is it just me or did that conversation involve a lot less… green-eyed rage than I expected?”
Now, it’s time to plan that next date…
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Taglist:
@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard @why-must-i-be-like-this @griffinthing @i23432i @imsotiredfanficlovertm
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Fledgling
Some scrap words I won't be using for another fic, repurposed for the @drarrymicrofic prompt Hatch.
Anyway, this is another dads Drarry piece (i know i know). Newborn Albus and newborn Scorpius, tired fathers, both recently separated. Harry struggling a bit with life as a parent. No major warnings that I can think of but do please let me know if there's anything. Unbetaed
ETA: actually re CW there is mention of an unwanted/unexpected pregnancy. Pls do proceed with caution if that's a tricky topic as I don't delve into it with the nuance it deserves. As to my stance, i am firmly pro-choice and it's not the sort of topic i usually take lightly.
Harry hadn’t thought the sling thing through before he left the house, and now his whole back is aching and he keeps whacking people with the unwieldy changing bag that won’t stop slipping off his shoulder. Albus is weeping noisily, one side of his tiny face pressed against Harry’s t-shirt, his new-blue eyes shutting and opening in bewildered exhaustion. Looking down into the sling, Harry can only see the fluffy top of his head, the fuzz of eyelashes, the slack weight of his plump cheek, but he can feel the tear-wettened patch of fabric spreading. They're both exhausted, the heat of summer making Harry's back prickle with sweat under the straps of the sling.
Harry's at the farmers market off Diagon, trying to buy vegetables. He doesn’t actually want to eat a vegetable, or indeed anything that involves chopping or cooking or making any sort of effort at all. In fact, what Harry wants is to go home and lie alone, in total silence, on the sofa in the back parlour, where the air is always cooler, and drink a very cold beer, and eat nothing but Monster Munch and Dairy Milk for dinner.
However Harry has to buy, cook, and eat vegetables, not just because he has to set a good example for his children, but also because if he dies of scurvy then he’ll be no better than his parents were, having a kid they were too young for, then going off and getting themselves killed. Though at least Harry's boys would have the Weasleys, which means they’d be loved at least, which is more than Harry was, and now his eyes are prickling with self-pity and guilt, and Albus is crying so hard he’s hiccuping, and god, Harry needs some sleep. But he won’t get any, because Molly can only keep James for another twenty minutes, and Harry has to get his grocery shopping done, and then it’ll be bathtime and bedtime and another broken night, and so the cycle continues, a relentless loop that might feel like a time-turner is involved except that Harry somehow manages to find brand new things to feel absolutely grim about every single day.
He sighs, pokes at a flabby-looking aubergine, then remembers how much work he’d have to do to make it taste good and just grabs some carrots instead. His hands are already full, the changing bag swinging and banging against his hip. Albus’s little legs are squirming in rage now, his whole body in muscular rolling motion against Harry’s chest.
“Please, baby,” he whispers, kissing the damp little head. “Please just calm down.”
He reaches for a butternut squash, and the bag swings forward and drops into the crook of his elbow, hitting the vegetable stall. Somewhere below him, a point he can’t actually see over the lump of screaming baby, he hears the hollow thumping noise of something falling and hitting the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a cabbage trundling onto the footpath, then another and another. The man who works at the vegetable stall gets his wand out and starts Accio-ing the fallen cabbages, giving Harry an unimpressed look which he extends to the baby in the sling. Harry feels suddenly enraged, and he drops the carrots so he can bring his hand up in front of them, a protective shield against the horrible man’s disapproval, and now the other shoppers are staring too, a woman with a bored-looking teenager giving Harry’s strewn carrots a pointed look as she bends to pick them up off the ground.
Harry can’t bear it anymore, hating himself, hating the people shopping like their worlds haven’t come to a standstill like his has, hating the great fucking changing bag and the carrots and even, for one awful shameful moment, the crying baby, and he moves further down the street to where there’s a break in the stalls, a mercifully unoccupied bench, and a busker playing some sort of multi-horned instrument that is making enough noise to drown out Albus’s wailing. He sits, carefully, so Albus is higher on his chest with one plump cheek against Harry’s fast-beating heart, and closes his eyes.
“Here,” a voice says, and Harry opens his eyes to see a plume of green feathery leaves, a hand clutching… is it the bunch of carrots? And then he looks up, beyond weary now, and it’s Malfoy there, because of course it is. “I saw you dropped these.”
Malfoy sits down uninvited, just sags down onto the bench next to Harry and lets the bunch of carrots fall on the seat between them. Harry hasn’t seen much of him since school, though he knew Malfoy had got married, and he’d definitely seen something in the papers when the baby was born. He looks awful, Harry thinks, too pale even for him, with sickly blueish shadows under his eyes. His hair is long, curling round his ears, slightly damp at the temples from the heat. He’s wearing a shirt that has some sort of greyish white stain all down the front, and the points of his collar are soft and floppy in the heat, like a puppy’s ears.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Harry says.
“I just want some rest,” Malfoy says, and he stretches his legs out in front of him and tips his face up towards the sun, closing his eyes. His throat is one long bared line, and in the crisp afternoon light Harry can see the fine glint of stubble all along his jaw where he clearly hasn’t shaved in a while.
“This doesn’t quite seem like the right place for resting,” Harry says. “This one won’t shut up, for one.” He looks down at Albus, his throat tight, then back at Malfoy. “Sorry. For the noise, I mean. I’ve tried everything and he just won’t stop.”
“Oh.” Malfoy waves his hand vaguely in Harry’s direction, eyes still closed. “I can’t even hear him, really. It’s practically a holiday for me, hearing a baby crying that isn’t my own. Not my problem, for once. No, this one here is the reason I need a rest.” He opens his eyes as though it costs him effort, and jerks his head to the side. There’s a pram parked there, the old-fashioned silver chassis winking in the sun, gleaming hood drawn up to shade the baby inside. Harry can barely see through a haze of brightly coloured sun protection charms, anti-hex shields, and elaborate cushioning charms. The pram looks like something Harry had seen in old photos Petunia had, like a relic of some half-forgotten time, but Malfoy puts a hand out almost proudly and rests it on the handle, rocking the pram back and forth slightly.
“He’ll only sleep if the pram is moving,” he says, sounding grim. “And I’ve only just got him to doze off. If he wakes up now, I don’t think I’ll be able to bear it.” He looks at Harry, eyes wide, and places a hand to his mouth as though he wants to snatch the words back.
“Give us a proper look, then,” Harry says, and Malfoy gently lifts the shielding charms for a moment as Harry leans over a little to peer over the edge of the pram to see the baby. He's small and pink and not at all pointy, just a soft squidgy-looking bundle under a light summer muslin, with an almost invisible sheen of hair the same silver as Malfoy’s on his little head.
“That’s Scorpius,” Malfoy says, and he’s grinning a little, gazing distractedly into the pram as though he can’t quite help himself. Harry feels abruptly and surprisingly fond towards him. He’s seen that expression on his own face in countless photos of him with the boys.
“He’s cute. Interesting name.”
Malfoy goes pink, which makes him look a bit more like his old self, Harry thinks.
“It’s a family tradition,” Malfoy says stiffly. “And I happen to like it. And anyway, you can’t exactly talk, naming your child Albus.”
“Hey, no,” Harry says. “I wasn’t being— I mean, sorry if I sounded sarcastic or something. I really do like it. There were three Harrys in my form, at my old school before Hogwarts. I would have loved something different. I always wanted a cool name like Rocket or… Trent or… McGuyver, or something. I’d have loved to be called Scorpius.”
“You’re making it worse,” Malfoy says, though his lips are twitching. “Trent? Honestly, Potter.”
Then, as if compelled by curiosity, he leans over towards Harry and gently eases down the side of the sling so that he can look in at Albus from the side. Harry wonders what the baby must look like, in this heat, having been crying for so long, but Malfoy’s eyes soften and he smiles into the sling like he’s forgotten Harry’s even there, and Harry feels that irrational glow of pride he gets whenever anyone admires his babies. He’s mine, he wants to say. I made him.
Albus, as though sensing he’s being looked at, takes in a huge gulp of air with a sweet little wheezing sound and then, miracle of miracle, falls silent.
Harry and Malfoy look at each other over the baby’s head.
“Oh my god,” Harry mouths, and Malfoy mouths back at him, pointing into the sling, “He’s asleep!”
Harry isn’t sure how long they sit there. He thinks he might doze off for a while, though he can’t be sure. When he opens his eyes, Malfoy is still there beside him, resting his head on the back of the bench, pushing the pram wheel idly with one foot so that the whole thing rocks gently back and forward. He must sense Harry moving, because he yawns hugely and then blinks at Harry, or maybe into the sun, which is now setting behind Harry. At some point, the street musician must have moved on, because everything has the quiet, winding-down hum of early evening.
“This idea might be utterly mad,” Malfoy observes in a whisper, since both babies are, miraculously, still asleep. “I don’t know, since I’m so sleep-deprived I think my sense of reason has been affected. But would you possibly like to do this again sometime?”
“What, present each other with root vegetables and then fall asleep next to each other on a public bench?” Harry asks, amused. “No one could ever say we don’t know how to have a good time, I suppose.”
“Are you lonely?” Malfoy asks abruptly. “You seem lonely. Is that okay to say? I was watching you, you know, trying to buy your vegetables, and you looked about as miserable as I feel, and guess what? I was glad. That’s why I came to talk to you. I don’t think I’d have got the courage up if you’d been just standing there in the sunshine all golden and dewy and— and healthy looking—” He waves a hand dismissively in Harry’s general direction, the gesture somehow taking in every exhausted cell of Harry’s body. "Which, by the way, you do. Which is bloody unfair. But you also looked absolutely bloody livid and like you were about to cry.”
“I was,” Harry admits, because if Malfoy is oversharing, he might as well too.
“And I was glad,” Malfoy finishes, with a vicious satisfaction, and sits back. “I would have assumed you’d be really good at this, like you are at everything. No, no, I don’t mean you’re not a good father, Potter, anyone can see you’re hopelessly devoted to your offspring. I just meant, you looked like you were struggling. That you weren’t enjoying yourself. It was… refreshing. Reassuring, in a way. Like I’m not the only one who’s not a natural at this.”
“Albus was an accident,” Harry blurts out, covering the baby's ears carefully with his hands, though he's so deep in sleep he doesn't even stir. “Ginny and I were already separated. She had taken the job in Wales. She didn’t even realise she was pregnant for months, because she was training so hard she thought that’s why she felt tired all the time. And when she told me, I was so happy. She was crying and crying, she hates crying, I don’t know if you know that about her, probably not. But she just couldn’t stop, these big tears sliding down her cheeks. She was completely in shock, and I didn’t care at all. I wanted him, so badly, straight away. I could barely believe I got to have him. It felt like everything I had ever wanted, and that was all that mattered to me at that moment. And now he’s here and it’s like I’m being punished for it. It’s so hard, Malfoy. I’m on my own most of the time. Ginny was meant to have them at weekends, but she’s so busy and I don’t really want them going all the way to Wales without me just yet. And Ginny can’t fly after a week of broken nights, it would be too dangerous. So it’s just me, most of the time, and I’m so bloody lonely. Some nights when I’m up with one of the boys I just stand at the window and look out, just to see if I can find another house with a light on, so I feel like I’m not the only person in the world.”
“Wow,” Malfoy says. “That is a lot to be carrying around with you. Emotionally speaking, I mean, though it looks as though you’re overburdened physically too.” He eyes the changing bag with distaste. “Honestly Potter, are you a wizard or not?” He swings a hand over the bag, and Harry sees the tip of his wand sliding into his hand before Malfoy does a complicated little shivery wand movement over the bag. Then he sets his wand tip to the shoulder strap of Harry’s sling and performs a mild sticking charm, giving the sleeping lump of Albus a little pat before he sits back again. “There, that should hold until you get home.”
“Home…” Harry feels a familiar lurch in his stomach, the knowledge that he has forgotten something crucial but can’t quite put a finger on it. “Oh my god, Malfoy. I was meant to be at the Burrow to collect James at five o’ clock. What time is it? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. If I’ve made Molly miss her Witches’ Institute meeting she will hex me sideways.”
Harry stands, Albus wriggling and grumbling at the sudden movement and then subsiding back into sleep. The sling feels secure, more comfortable around the tired muscles of Harry’s shoulders. He grabs for the changing bag, which he lifts easily with one hand, the dead weight of it now lightened.
“Wow, Malfoy. What was that charm you used on the bag? It’s actually manageable now.”
“It’s a variation on the Feather-Light charm. Same principle and same incantation but a slightly different wand movement. Makes the results a bit more stable.”
“Nice.” Harry slides the strap of the bag onto his arm. “You’ll have to show me. Next time?”
“Next time,” Malfoy said, then grins, a sudden and charming smile that shows his nice teeth and makes him look younger and somehow softer. He has a dimple, Harry notices, tucked right into the dip next to his lip, easy to miss unless you’re really looking.
“Great, I’ll owl you. And Malfoy— Thanks. For the bag, and listening to me, and… well, everything.”
“And for the carrots.” Malfoy picks up the bunch with a flourish, the delicate green fronds quivering at the movement as he hands them to Harry. “You mustn’t forget those.”
“Well, I think I’m going to get a takeaway,” Harry confesses. “But I shall make sure to put these carefully into the salad drawer of the fridge so that they can moulder away gently there for a few weeks.”
“As is right and proper,” Malfoy replies, very seriously, then the slight quiver of his lips turns to a grimace as a squawk arises from the pram.
“Once more unto the breach,” he says, already moving towards the pram, reaching in to where the blanket is rippling from tiny kicking legs. “I’ll see you soon, Potter.”
“Good luck,” Harry says, tempted to pat him on the back or shake his hand, but catching himself at the last minute and realising how odd it would be to just start touching Malfoy all of a sudden.
He sets off for the Leaky, hoping that that queue for the Floo won’t be too long. At his chest, Albus sleeps on, and Harry feels the tension leave his shoulders, somehow unburdened.
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