Soft Spot
Roleplaying Log: Soft Spot
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

After Hypocritical Justice, Eddie and Roy discuss the liabilities in their lives in their normal backwards way.

Other Characters Referenced: Boomerang
IC Date: February 27, 2019
IC Location: Flop House
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 10 Mar 2019 02:26
Rating & Warnings: Language, gore, innuendo.
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots
  • * *

There are no sirens in the distance. Whatever happened back at the bar, the owner is apparently too embarrassed or guilty to report.

Eddie has limped back to the abandoned bodega, unlocking the security gate and leaving it open for the others, though no doubt Owen may be too high or pissed to follow and she's in no mood to see if Roy is following her.

The windows are papered over, the shelves empty save for a little section near the back that Hashmark has set up as one of her safe houses. She clicks on a light, hardwired into the electrical grid along with a heater, enough power to illuminate the corner and keep the space warm for temporary occupation. The fishbowl of AA chips is set on a shelf and Eddie just stands there limp-armed and staring at it while she gathers the energy and the wherewithal to deal with her bleeding thigh.

* * *

Roy is indeed following her. He ducks under the security gate, walking back through the shelves behind Eddie's limping pace. He's silent for a long moment, watching her, "A bit more direct than a stink-bomb, but I think he got the message. You want me to take a look at your leg, E? I'm not any sort of doctor, but I can at least bandage them up, maybe get the buckshot out if it's not too deep." There's a tightness to his voice that he tries to paper over, glancing out toward the front of the shop a moment before he turns his attention back to Eddie. "The tranq gun was a good call."

* * *

"I know." It's a blanket statement, said under her breath more than anything as Roy comments on the merits of the 'job' before Eddie lifts her gloved hand to her face and covers her eyes with the cool leather. "You don't have to." Help. It's not a dismissal of the offer, just giving him the option to bow out out of any perceived obligation of helping to tend to the wound.

Her hand falls away from her face, a frown deepening on her features as it comes away wet, silent tears betraying her even if they can be explained away as a side effect of pain.

* * *

Roy Harper says, "Yeah, I know." Less of a blanket statement from Roy, more directed at the option provided. "But even ex-Titans don't leave friends in the lurch." He steps over to the marginally-livable corner, searching for a larger medical kit, then looks up and sees the glisten of moisture within the mask. He draws in a breath, moving back to Eddie's side and frowning at her in worry. "E." He struggles for something to say, finds nothing, but tries anyhow, "One of those belong to a friend? To you?""

* * *

"No." The word comes out scratchier than she'd like, so Eddie clears her voice and tries that again. "No, but each of them is a ruined life. Might as well be the jar of wasted good intentions. Help me get this thing off, will you?" She makes a vague motion to the mask, still unused to wearing it much less applying it and removing it. She turns to face him more fully, squaring her jaw with a set of teeth against each other in a clench.

* * *

Roy has plenty of experience taking masks off, and he touches the proper point to pop it off easily on the first try, careful to keep his gloves off her skin. "Yeah. They are." He hesitates a moment, standing there with her mask held between them in both hands. "I…" he stops whatever he was going to say, his own jaw tensing for a moment before he lets out a hissing sigh from his nose. "I wouldn't have expected it to hit you so hard. You're not gonna go that way, you know?" Says one of the biggest risks to her going exactly that way.

* * *

Eddie scrunches up her nose and pinches up her eyes, exercising her facial muscles to adjust to the mask being gone. "It pissed me the fuck off." She explains away any emotions, just dumping it into that broad category to be done with it. "Exploiting people like that. And for what gain? Half the people that take him up on the offer are probably too embarrassed to ever return past their free shots to become a regular customer. Bastard probably just got off on breaking people. Fuck that. Fuck him."

Eddie turns away before she reads too much into Roy's body language, yanking at the tongue of her belt until the toggle is loosened from the notch and she can whip it out of the buckle, leaving it dangle from the belt loops of her pants. "These were my favorite jeans too, the bastard."

* * *

Roy settles for the little medical kit at his belt, kneeling down alongside Eddie, setting the mask down, and starting to pop open containers of gauze, bandages, and the like from the compact kit. "Yeah. Pissed you off." There's some doubt to his words, and he stops his preparations, looking up at her. "So what do you think should happen to people like that? Not what will, what should?" The belt comes off, and he manages a crooked little grin, "E… I don't think you're in any sort of shape for that… I'd say you should get armored pants, but that just means when something ruins them, they're a hell of a lot more expensive to replace." Beat pause, "Now come on, drop trou."

* * *

What would normally be a wry grin down at him for such a quip about her ability to do certain sexual activities is just comes across as baleful considering the circumstances. "I have a pair, they just belong to SHIELD and they love to brand their shit." Not perfect for their recent low brow vigilante exploits. "Hold on a second." Because standing up for this kind of sucks on her scale of one to blinding pain even though the longer she waits, the worse she feels and the more color that drains from her face.

Her left foot is dragging a little as she moves over to a palate of old blankets and pillows, snagging that bottle of whiskey she stole from the bar on her way. With some effort and a bit of wobbling, she starts to toe off her boots. "People like what? That scumbag or the people he used for his own amusement?"

* * *

Roy shakes his head at the mention of branding, the baleful glare sliding off him like water off a duck's back despite the skill with which it is applied. The collection of medical gear is shifted over after Eddie, and then Roy knee-walks to the end of the pallet, to help her pull off her boots. Once they're off, he offers up a hand, leaning back to help her lower herself down to the blankets and pillows, "The scumbag. Well, and his minions, I guess. Like, whiskey-boarded would be kind of nice, but I don't know that it solves anything. And I don't know that he's doing anything against the law, just being a total and utter shit-head."

* * *

Eddie balances the bottle on his shoulder which helps to steady her as they work together to pull off her boots. Her jeans stick a little to the injury, the fabric puckered into the wounds and crusted onto skin from clotting blood, but she manages to shimmy out of them and, with his help, lay down on the palate on her stomach with the bottle resting between her propped up elbows. Her left upper thigh and cheek looks like glorified hamburger meat, but because of the distance between her and the weapon, the metal buckshot seems close to the surface.

A healthy pull is taken off the whiskey, no longer caring about touching either the bottle or the bedding with her skin, because nothing compares to the visions she's already getting off the ammunition, plus the pain is keeping the worst at bay. She hands the bottle over so he can both steady his own nerves and douse the wound. "If this is some sort of morality test, please remember I kill people for a living. The tranq gun was so you and Boomerang didn't freak out on me."

* * *

Roy winces a little as he helps pull the denim from around the wounds, "Jesus, E. That's gnarly." The word may be so '90s, but it's appropriate. "And I'm officially no longer turned on." Digging out a pair of tweezers, he looks over the wounds, then takes the bottle gratefully, taking a healthy swig, pausing, and then taking another before he hands it back, "I've got some actual anti-bac spray in the kit." He starts with pulling threads of denim from the wounds, getting the obvious ones before he starts in on the most readily-visible piece of buckshot. "Naw. I'm actually curious. Everyone's got their own ideas: beatings to improve morale, handing them over to the cops, killing them. I'm usually in the 'beat the shit out of them for the first offense' camp, myself. After that… man, I don't know. It's hard."

* * *

"How very progressive of you." Eddie comments dryly to the mention of antibacterial spray. "You're so fussy. I would've just poured.." Her words stop as a hiss is drawn through her teeth, apparently those tweezers touched a particularly raw spot. Her next words are pinched. "…poured booze on it, dug it out with my knife and slapped a bandage on it. Of course, you're looking at a girl that used a stapler last time from a hotel's front desk to close a wound just so Boomerang wouldn't stick around to play doctor." Eddie applies more liquid courage to her gullet, because the burn in her throat is better than the one in her thigh. "Judging by that jar? It wasn't his first offense. Just the first time he was called out on it. And what? You don't find this attractive? Eunuch." Snort.

* * *

Progressive though he may be, Roy doesn't stop poking and prodding at the wounds, looking for buckshot, when Eddie hisses in pain. "Yeah, sorry. The reason I'm a damn Arsenal is I like having the right tool for the job. Why the hell would you drive a rust-bucket beater to chase after someone when you've got a Nox-fueled Hummer?" He pauses a moment, considering the comparison, "Besides center-of-gravity and rollover issues." With all the low-hanging lead-fruit plucked, he actually starts pulling as lightly as he can on her skin, drawing the wounds open a touch more to search out some of the slightly-deeper buckshot. "Oh, yeah, this is going to hurt." Perhaps not noticeably more than before, but… it's still nice to give warning, right?" Oh there's one. It comes out, and is dropped onto the blankets with the others, "And you still went with the beating-and-warning. That all for us?" There's a pause, "Oh, and the other side looks real nice. But this side? Yeah, I think I'm gonna be off steak tartare for a while. Not that, you know, I was ever really on it."

* * *

Yeoow. Eddie's head snaps back and her teeth clench as she hissed out a sound with each pained breath that sounds less like Lamaze and more like a Maori growl until the wave passes. "Good to know..the limitations of your libido." Her tongue rewets lips that have suddenly gone dry, and she gulps more whiskey to wash back the rising tide of bile. "You know the best thing about working alone? No one is around to give you disapproving disappointed looks. I can't stand those looks. So now I have to think about others. With Coulson at SHIELD. With you and other friends. It's no longer 'what would Hashmark do'."

* * *

"Everyone's got limitations, even if they're superhuman like mine." If Roy were going to claim he were somehow superhuman, of course libido or sass would be it. "One more." Pause, "Okay, two more." And there goes one, the tweezers groping for a moment in a way that is undoubtedly painful, and then coming away with buckshot. "I thought the best part about working alone was that no one hogged the wifi bandwidth?" Still, he takes it a little seriously, nodding, and reaching up to press his knuckles lightly against her lower back, just a bit of weight to go along with his words, "Not being able to stand those looks is a good thing, you know? It's why I'm who I am too. A lot of good people giving me those looks when I screwed up."

* * *

Eddie's noises of pain have become a growl that is part incredulous laugh and part tearless sob, especially when his number jumps from one to two more pellets that need to be plucked out of her tender, abused flesh. When he finally ceases with those tweezers, her shoulders slump and her head bows forward over the bottle, forehead resting against the slanted neck of it. "I swear if you tell me I'm turning into a good person, I will find my last ounce of strength and use it to sock you in the mouth."

* * *

"Come on, E, you know better than that. You never punch teeth or jaw. Go for the groin or the throat." Roy starts counting holes and buckshot, coming up one short on the buckshot, looking worriedly at hamburger-leg, then counts again… oh good, one of the buckshot just rolled off. "I think I got them all." The tweezers are set down on the edge of the medical kit and he pulls out some gauze, "Besides, I never said who I am was a good thing. I still screw up plenty. This is going to hurt again." He dabs at the wounds to try and soak up blood and wipe away the dried stuff as well.

* * *

"Uh-huh." Eddie mumbles a bit tiredly at the warning, the sound muffled by the downward can't of her face. There is just a little hiss as he starts dabbing at the wounds, but compared to him digging around in there, this is a cake walk. She lifts her head only to apply more alcohol to the one wound she can attend to herself: pride.

* * *

Eddie Morales says, "I found a cure, you know. For what I am." Conversation is a great distraction, and the confession comes with a turn of her face to her shoulder so she can look up at him from the tops of her eyes."

* * *

The gauze is set aside, and Roy picks up the antiseptic spray, spritzing it all over the place, over all of the wounds and the surrounding area. "This is going to sting." Her admission stops his hand, however, and he meets her gaze, waiting a moment before he reaches up and takes off his own mask, setting it aside. Only then does he ask, "Permanently? Or just a way to control it that doesn't rock you out of your head?"

* * *

Eddie rolls slightly onto her hip so she can face him properly, even if that rocks her leg a bit out the best view for dressing the wounds. "There is this German doctor in Romania. I spent the last five years tracking someone like him down, all over the globe. But he swears he can do it. It's going to cost me nearly everything I have, but he can do it. He showed me others he had cured and they're now living normal lives, Roy. He can take away this…curse. All of it."

* * *

"German doctor in Romania." Roy sounds skeptical, "SHIELD can't get you what you want?" He shifts on his knees, then leans forward, setting his free hand at the outside of her knee to spray more antiseptic on the wounds, "I mean, I get that you want it gone. At any price." Settling back on his heels, he leaves his hand on her knee, "But is there a safer way? Or I don't know, is he safe? At all?" He suddenly seems to realize that he has a gloved hand on her bare knee, and pulls it back quickly, pulling the glove off and reaching out for her knee again.

* * *

"You mean am I willing to take the risk that people won't flinch every time they touch me that this guy might be a hack?" Eddie notes when he does the double take and glove removal routine. "With every fiber of my being, I have to believe that this guy can do what he says he can. I just needed to get the final two million to pay for the procedure and I have now. As soon as I complete one more job, I'm booking the flight." Eddie's own gloved hand reaches down to settle on top of his, though the movement is trepidatious and cautious at best.

* * *

Roy looks a bit bashful when she calls him out on his glove-removal, "Hey, just trying to be polite." His fingers squeeze on her knee, "Or maybe trying to sneak a grab in where you don't look like hamburger." And then the numbers slip into his brain, and he goes all goggle-eyed, "Two million? Wait, final two million. Jesus, E." He draws in a breath, re-establishing 'normal' here before he looks down to her hand on his. He slowly turns his hand over to take hers, "How can I help?"

* * *

"This is my mess, I'm not going to drag you into it. When I warned you to be careful there was a very good reason, the number one on that list is I don't even know what I've gotten myself into. And the last thing I need is you to become a walking, talking liability to be used against me. Weak spots can be exploited." The last is said softer, as if giving it a full breath makes it that much more likely it will become truth. And Eddie runs from truths.

* * *

Roy shrugs slightly, "I'm a big boy." Still, he accepts the words with a grudging nod, "Okay. You're a big girl too. You can handle yourself, and have for a while." His fingers squeeze hers a moment, then loose, just resting there between her hand and knee, "Besides, I'm not a weak spot. Nobody can put up with me long enough to use me against anyone. They tend to try to kick my ass instead."

* * *

Eddie's smile is a bit pinched as his hand loosens its grip but that could just be from residual pain as her fingers slither away and she rolls fully back onto her stomach. "Yeah, you're right. It was an illogical thought. Saying I have a soft spot is like…some appropriate metaphor about things that don't." She mutters into the mouth of the bottle before she drains more of the liquid. "You wanna hurry up there, Sparky? I'm starting to think you're just staring at my ass."

* * *

"No, I know you've got a soft spot, E." She might not be able to see his eyebrow waggle, but she can no doubt hear it. Still, Roy snorts and puts the antiseptic away, digging out more gauze to pack the wounds for wrapping, "Yeah. I'm totally looking at your ass-check that doesn't look like ground chuck." Once her leg is wrapped, he beckons for the bottle, "Come on, give it over. Your friend stole my flask."

* * *

Eddie snorts, "Don't play a player, I know you patted him down for it before we left the bar." But fair is fair, and the price for packing her wounds is that he gets to share the top shelf bottle of booze she snagged from Tom's. She sloshes it over, and despite all the pulls she's taken from it, there's still a fair amount left. If they drain the entire bottle of high proof, no doubt both of them will be hurting in the morning. The first rule about spy shit is you don't talk about spy shit, and yet she's saying casually, "Someone paid me to infiltrate SHIELD, and I've been made."

* * *

"Patted him down, didn't find it. I think he stuck it down his pants." Or Roy was hurrying. Or both. Once the bandage is clipped off with the nice little enclosed clip, Arsenal settles back to sit cross-legged beside the pallet, taking a pull from the bottle — and promptly spitting it out all over the blankets and maybe Eddie's side. "What the fuck, E?" At least he keeps it quiet, despite how his eyes are bugging out. Coughing again at the whiskey in his airway, he takes another swig anyhow, wincing it down, "So that's why you disappeared. And now you've turned on them. Or SHIELD wouldn't have let you out." There's a pause, he takes another swig, then passes the bottle out, "Not the most life-wrecking thing to come out of an undercover assignment ever. But close."

* * *

"Ai." Eddie winces at the spit-take, raising a hand to shield the side of her face from the spittle of booze, even if it's unnecessary. As he follows the natural progression of what shook down, she has the audacity to look a little ashamed at not only being caught but being turned triple, which only adds to the guilt of admitting she sold out her friends in the first place. "Only problem is, I don't trust SHIELD to have my back if things go sideways. A few of them, yes, but the Company as a whole? So. If you really mean it, and you want to help me…" She looks back to him, eyebrow raised with the hanging sentence.

* * *

And here Roy proves that while he's a white knight, he's also tarnished by the realities of the world, "Look, E… yeah. I'll help." So far, so good, "But I can't go up against SHIELD. I'm too public, too many people know who I am. Too many people could find me." He lowers his voice, "Roy." His shrug is uncomfortable, and he looks down to his bared hands, finally reaching to clean her blood off them, "I can't risk anyone coming after me guns blazing. But yeah." Finally, he looks back up to meet her gaze, "Anything short of going straight up against SHIELD, I'm there."

* * *

"I'm not going up against them, darling." Some how Eddie turns the term of endearment into something all together insulting. "But I am going to take down the man that wants to see them crumble. And if I've learned anything in my dealings with him, it's that he's probably already expecting it. So. I just need you to have my back when I go to take him down, in case my SHIELD back up decides it doesn't want to…back me up." Alcohol has helped her deal with the pain, numb the visions, unfortunately it starts to dull her other senses like self preservation. "Roy. Who is Roy." She reaches over, gloved fingers tracing the shell of his ear.

* * *

Well that's an altogether different beast, and Roy brightens up again, even as she's wielding that 'darling' like a knife. "Oh. Then yeah. No problem." The touch of her fingers to his ear sends gooseflesh chasing down his arms, and adds some heat to the bright smile on his lips, "I've got no problem being your ace in the hole." His eyebrows waggle just to emphasize the point, and he chuckles, leaning forward a little to close some of the distance between them, "Or the ace in your hole. You're a lot sexier with the bandage on." Still, his hand settles at the small of her back, rather than anywhere more… delicious, hands spreading out slowly with just a gentle weight. "E. Who is delightfully drunk." While he himself just has a nice buzz on, which is probably why his other hand reaches for the bottle to take a pull.

* * *

"Mmm." Eddie gives a smile that is just a little bleary at the edges, the pleasant sound born both out of the warm spread of his fingers and admitting that he's hit the nail on the head with the drunk bit. "So do you have to get home to whatever it you're protecting, or are you going to crawl up here with me and read me a bedtime story full of more terrible puns?"

* * *

Roy hefts the bottle, casting her a very-warm-indeed look as he weighs how much of the expensive booze is left in it by feel and memory, "I think I can find something better than terrible puns to fill you — " and then something clears behind eyes, and he squeezes them closed, "Shit. Fuck. Damn. God. Shit. Motherfucker." Disappointment and annoyance war with the warmth in his gut and the warm radiating up his arm from the touch to her still-clothed back. "Goddamn bake sale tomorrow. I'm not going to be the guy with a fucking package of Oreos again." He puts the bottle down with a little more force than is strictly necessary, then rubs his hand over his face, "Fucking hell. No, I'm going to be the asshole who just gets you patched up and doesn't play Doctor Feelgood. I need to go fucking bake cookies."

* * *

Eddie's eyes narrow slightly as he goes links together a string of curse words. "We need to work on your creativity, throw in a goat or something clever with anatomy and barbed wire." She props her chin up on her palm, and despite her budding inebriation she can follow the line he's drawing without needing the map. "Either you're a daddy or you're really into church activities." Her chin ticks up a little. "Go. I absolve you of your duties."

* * *

"Yeah, but I don't want anything to do with barbed wire anywhere near my anatomy. Or anyone else's, really. Ow." Roy might be sulking a little. He clearly wanted to play Doctor Feelgood. He eyes the bottle desirously, and then the recumbent spy more desirously, then drops his head. When he looks back to Eddie, there's more consideration there, a careful choice made without any influence by the booze, the half-naked body, or Eddie's own sharing. Eventually he blows out a breath. "I've got a five-year-old daughter. None of the Titans know. No one knows." Clearly, some people do. And honestly, Vic probably knows, since he is the Internet. And Dick probably knows, because he's Dick. "Her mom's not around anymore." And he's up in New York. Semi-frequently. Shooting things with arrows. And doing drugs. "I've got the world's best babysitter, but he's expensive as hell."

* * *

Eddie's head drops onto a fold of her arms, pillowing her cheek against a jacket she never bothered to remove. Just one more layer of protection against the world, why strip it needlessly off? Especially when her cuddle buddy is leaving. She listens to his confession of sorts with her eyes darting over the plains of his face as if to read the micro expressions that accompanies his words. "You don't owe me anything. Least of all an explanation." It might seem cold, even distant, if she wasn't following it up with an earnest question. "What's her name?"

* * *

"Don't owe it," Roy agrees, and then he admits, "Giving it." He draws in a slow breath, expanding his chest within the armor of his jacket, and then lets it out with a hiss, "Lian. Smart as a whip, and has no idea about…" one hand gestures toward his chest, "…any of this." Probably. Hopefully. "She just knows that Daddy works at night too." He squeezes off the well of emotion behind the words, running his left hand over his face, wincing a little as it brushes over his own wound, then nods, "So yeah. That's me. Single father druggie vigilante." Self-deprecating humor is always a great defense, "I'm a real catch. Even for a quick roll."

* * *

"That would require me actually catching you." Eddie points out, "But you have cookies to bake. You know, should you accidentally make an extra dozen, you have my number. Now go on and get out of here, before I convince you if you smear frosting on the pre-made Chips Ahoy shit, no one will be able to tell the difference." Eddie grunts as she shifts over on the palate, finger hooking into his bandolier so she can pull him close enough to press a kiss to his cheek. "Go."

* * *

"That would require you to actually chase me," Roy retorts. Still, he chuckles at the 'offer' to take an extra dozen off his hands, then leans forward into the pull of her finger, shortening the distance she has to lift herself up to press her lips to his cheek. His eyes drift closed for a heartbeat, and then he straightens up once more, hooking the bottle for one last pull for the road (because that's always a good idea), "Pretty sure they'd know… but it's still tempting." He pushes himself to his feet with a sigh, leaning over to gather up the remains of his medical kit and his mask, "Rest up. Consider this a rain check for next time." Beat pause, "And nice op. Even with the buckshot." And then he's heade

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