Red Hood and The Syphon

Chapter 7

The grace of the Wayne Foundation had kept hundreds, thousands of people alive in Gotham since it was formed by billionaire Bruce Wayne years ago. Elizabeth Ray was one of many who had survived the horror of the city because of that charity. The Martha Wayne Foundation's soup kitchens and public schools had seen her through her childhood and even as an adult, it was the reason she wasn't starving. The Thomas Wayne Foundation saved her from crippling medical bills. For a billionaire, Bruce Wayne was a saving grace. 

It seemed ungrateful to feel the magic sink straight back into her bones the day after being seen by doctor Thompkins but Beth couldn't help herself. She felt like shit when she was just herself. Everything felt flat, her body ached, and she had never felt more depressed. The fear of Zatanna or someone else turning up the next time she turned a corner was overwhelming. It felt like Batman and all his birds were watching her every move. If they came after her again— she needed to protect herself, it was all she knew. 

Her hair felt greasy when she brushed it to tie it out of her face. The thought of showering was on her mind but it left just as fleetingly, slipping through her fingers like the growl in her stomach when she forgot to eat. 

Beth had been sitting in the Falcon's Claw, scratching numbers into the newspaper sudoku puzzle when she saw the Red Hood again. He came in and slumped down on the stool beside her, leaning into her shoulder to look down at the paper. 

"Pretty sure 'Zatanna' isn't the answer there," he commented, rocking back and releasing the pressure on her arm, "might want to try the crossword for word answers." 

Beth frowned and looked down at the harsh capital letters carved into the boxes with her pencil. She must have spaced out again. Groaning, she flipped her pencil and nearly ripped the paper rubbing it out. 

"You're not looking so hot lately," he continued, flagging down the bartender for a whiskey. 

"You think about me a lot?" she asked, not even turning to look at him as she tried to refocus herself with the sudoku. 

Hood snorted and lit a cigarette, finally getting her attention as the bartender put his drink down in front of him. The pencil dropped down on the paper and drew his eyes. 

"You sharing?" she asked, swivelling in her seat with a sly smile. 

He looked at her for a second through the white eye covers in his mask and then slid the glass in her direction. Shaking his head like he must have lost mind, Hood put his cigarette between his lips only for it to get stolen a second later. 

"Is this what you do to Slade?" he sighed, leaning on his elbows as she robbed him of his comforts, "just bat your pretty eyes at him and he just lets you take anything he has?" 

"You think they're pretty?" Beth smiled after letting the smoke pass between her lips. 

"When they're brown? Sure," Hood sighed, grimacing a little as he leaned closer and she blew smoke in his face, "the grey doesn't suit you." 

Beth laughed softly as he took his cigarette back from her fingers. 

"Thank you," she said quietly, looking down into the whiskey glass in front of her, "for taking me to the clinic." 

The Red Hood shrugged, breathing the smoke deep into his lungs. Compliments clearly weren't a strength of his.

"It's whatever," he sniffed and offered the cigarette back to her which she accepted gratefully, "if you're just beating up Black Mask's guys, you're not doing anything I wouldn't do." 

They sat in silence for a while, sharing a cigarette and a whiskey like they were any kind of friends. It felt strange, to be sitting there with him, the taste of his lips on the end of the cigarette feeling almost intimate. Beth was used to pity. Anyone even a step above her in the socioeconomic ladder saw her as just another street kid. Something to toss a coin at and make them feel better about themselves. If she thought about it too hard then it would piss her off, so Beth chose to live without the thought rather than to die with pride.